Knock on Wood
by Lament of Meow
Summary: The Allspark lies within Sam, regaining its power and watching through his eyes. When it sees the chance to help with Ratchet's request to see sparklings again, it manages to blow the whole situation up spectacularly. BeeSam RatchTwins ProwlJazz BlueJack
1. Playing Doctor

Right...this is going to be a long one. I know I shouldn't be doing this, I _should_, by all rights, be studying for the Stats exam I have on Friday and doing the paper, too. But instead I decided to post this...I'm sorry if accidentally reading this ruined your week! I sometimes have much grander ideas in my head than I manage to get down on paper and I want to apologize if this falls flat. It will get decidedly not rated for children in the next chapter, however, so if you were to stay with me that long I would be eternally grateful. This will also mean that the rating will skyrocket to a lovely "M" next chapter, so sorry if that puts a crick in anyone's plans.

I liked the mechs' color schemes in G1 more than the movie, so while I'm including Sam, I'm gonna make everyone be G1-ish. But there's a reason for it! Really!

This is also going to turn out to have a _bunch_ of random pairings in it, namely Bluestreak/Wheeljack, Ratchet/Twins, Sam/Bee, Jazz/Prowl, and anything else that my sick little mind can think up. Most of these pairings I blame on the wonderful authors here and it's thanks to them that this even came about.

So, if anything, blame them.

**Edit: Since I am an overall idiot, I seemed to have managed to spell one of the character's**_**names**_**wrong. It's pathetic, really. Out of all the things to spell wrong, it was Ironhide. Iron and hide. I...suck a lot. Many huge goops of thanks to****Cheysuli-Night****and SkyHighFan who were kind enough to point it out. Look! I fixed it!**

**Edit 2: My love goes out to Kesera who was kind enough to send me an e-mail with all her suggestions. It was one the most helpful things I have ever gotten and**_**thank you**_**for it. The credit for the now gone grammar mistakes goes most humbly to you.**

**Edit 3 (Because these things**_**never**_**end): Thanks to .groove who helped me with the CORRECT spelling of Bee's alt-mode.**

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He could never really get over how much Sector 7 loved their secrecy. Never mind they had helped to save the world that, through the stupidity _of_ the Sector, had almost been anything but. Never mind they showed time and time again that they could be trusted. Never mind it had been a whole _year_after the Autobots had landed before they apparently thought it was in their best interests to tell what else they had found all those years ago.

And hid under the Great Wall of China, of all places.

"Sam? Are you even paying attention?" a sharp voice asked. Blinking, Sam reoriented his mind from his musings to stare into irate blue optics.

"Ummm…yes?" he answered hesitantly, lifting himself onto his elbows. The medic before him huffed before reaching out with one red hand and pushing him back into his lying position on the only human sized bunk in the whole of the med bay.

Sam sighed and allowed the deceptively gentle push to do its job, settling himself onto the bed and trying his hardest to ignore the harsh hum of scanners being turned back on as Ratchet continued his examination of his body, making sure once again that it hadn't been negatively affected by his prolonged exposure to the energy of the Allspark back in Mission City.

Not like it had been a year or anything since the attack on Mission City and his connection with the Allspark, but really, who's counting?

As the hum of machines got louder as Ratchet got particularly up close and personal with his right inner ear, Sam cast around for something to distract himself. Desperate, he turned his mind back to the events that had unfolded once Sector 7 had told Optimus what they had been keeping from them in China. Sam didn't know the precise details (the technical jargon just tended to go over his head. Mikaela, however, seemed to understand some of it) but it sounded like they had found a gigantic ship covered in the same symbols as the cube. Drawing out a picture of the two most prominent symbols from the file Simmons had handed him, Sam put his guardian's limited teaching of Cybertronian to use. He recognized the first symbol as the rough human equivalent to the sound Are. The second was something like Ch.

"Are-Ch? Ark?" Sam had whispered silently, before turning to his towering guardian for confirmation.

Only Bumblebee seemed pretty preoccupied with just staring at the pictures presented before him in something that Sam had learned to recognize as shock. Optimus, taking one look at them himself, spent enough time for a hasty, "Autobots, Roll Out!" Before the lot of them were kicking up dust on the way to, presumably, China. Stuck holding the proverbial bag, Sam could only turn to Simmons dejectedly and shrug his shoulders. Simmons spent all of five seconds staring incredulously at him (Sure, he'd spent a year in their company, but come on! It would take more than _that_ to understand the eccentrics of a giant sentient robot race) before giving the orders for helicopters to be prepped. Sam inserted himself rather firmly into one of said helicopters, Simmons only rolling his eyes before allowing him to accompany them in their mad dash half way across the world.

Sam had the good grace to hide his smirk. Out of all the people he had met after and during the events at Mission City, Simmons had surprisingly turned out to be the biggest pushover. Not that Maggie really put up a fight. Nor Will, really, as long as you made the puppy dog eyes big enough. And Mikaela had found some way to get Glen to bend to her will, but she wasn't sharing the coveted secret with Sam. Apparently, he lacked the "finesse" that she did in the matter.

Sam just thought he lacked the boobs.

After which he had promptly got socked over the head for his accidentally-out-loud comment. Sam had found out, rather grudgingly, that Mikaela had developed some form of superhuman resistance to all wounded animals and therefore his wounded animal look did nothing to garner her pity. Probably came with being a criminal.

The resulting smack from that one was enough to make him see stars. Sure, he may have desynthesized her to her hate for being reminded of her past by his repeated stupid jokes, but god help him if she ever showed it. He bore the beatings well, however, in a good brotherly way. They bickered like siblings, really.

Probably why the broke up.

"Sam. You need to _look_ at the light. Stop daydreaming and try to focus! If you'd just concentrate then this could be over all that much faster." The snappy retort dragged him again from his musings and Sam winced into the light that the red and white mech was shinning directly into his eyes. Chagrined, Sam obliged and stared into the blinding light until the sadist that was the CMO finished. Ratchet did allow him the dignity of blinking away the dark green spots fused onto his retinas before continuing with the examination, however. But hey, small victories and all that. After the small time allotted to him for gathering his vision back, Ratchet then moved onto his arms and chest, prodding as gently as he could.

He knew it was for his own good (Ratchet told him often enough, really, how could he forget), but after twelve months of once a month checkups, Sam was ready to pull his hair out. So what if the Allspark created a bucket load of electrical current when it blew up in Megatron's chest? If it hadn't of hurt him then, it wasn't like it was going to suddenly show up now one whole year later.

Apparently not sharing his rather nonchalant view of the situation, Ratchet had insisted on the monthly examinations and had declined to inform his patient when they would cease, instead just saying they would stop "when he felt that Sam was perfectly safe." Sam could hardly stop himself from snorting at the memory. Cheeky Medic—like that would ever happen. Sam was sure that it was in Ratchet's programming somewhere to always assume that his fellows were always injured and that they were never as healthy as they appeared to be and certainly not as much as they said they were.

This stigma of unhealthiness seemed to carry over to Ratchet's human patients as well. As Ratchet continued the gentle manipulations of his arms, the autobot's scanners taking detailed recordings of all his inner body movements, Sam sighed and let his mind wander again over to when he had landed with Simmons at the Great Wall to find Ironhide and Ratchet waist deep in a trench that had been dug around the site where the large "ark" ship had been deposited. Reporters were everywhere; Simmons almost had a heart attack as he watched his diligently kept secret be photographed, filmed, myspaced, facebooked, and all other manners of communication-ed before his very eyes to thousands of other people across the world.

There went the whole "keep the aliens a secret" approach.

Once the autobots had uncovered most of the ship, Sam had felt it safe enough to approach Bee, the last of the vulture-like-microphone-toting suits having given up getting a word out of the autobots and simply leaving in a huff, making their cameraman stay to get the visual shots. Edging himself towards his guardian in the hope that the remaining cameramen couldn't see him, Sam had crept up and asked what the hell was up with the ship.

Chirping excitedly, Bee had explained, "The Ark is the ship containing the rest of the autobots. After Tyger Pax," Sam's confused look was completely lost on the yellow bot and he just continued to babble out the clarification, optics still trained onto the ship, "Our unit was dispatched while the rest of our team was to follow suit in the Ark. We lost contact with them but we had made plains to meet up at a rendezvous point. When they missed it, we could only assume the worst. But the mission had been imperative and we had to go on. It's just luck that they had crashed here, on _this_ planet of all planets. We only hope that they'll all be okay."

"But they crashed, how can they possibly have survived?" Sam had asked wonderingly. He had gleaned a little bit of Cybertronian physiology out of his guardian's small teachings and while he knew that they were able to sustain larger amounts of damage than a human, a crash-landing was still a crash-landing. And this ship didn't look nearly to be as precisely made as the pods that the previous Autobots had arrived in—those had been custom made to support the autobot while landing on the planet's surface. Sam continued to watch in astonishment as Optimus stepped up to one side of the unearthed ship, pressing his palm to it lightly. A blue line lit up a rectangle against the surface before a slight hissing of hydraulics had the ship opening up onto a bridge into its inner workings.

"We_do_ have readings of Cybertronian life forms—which means that they're still alive. We can only assume that they went into a forced stasis lock once they hit the planet." Bee had exclaimed, his optics lightening up as he followed Optimus into the ship.

"Ow!" Sam said sharply as Ratchet twisted his leg a little too hard.

The medic snorted, "Oh, so you _are_still in the land of the conscious. I hadn't realized my bedside manner was so bad that my patients have taken to paying absolutely no attention to me throughout the entirety of their examinations."

Cutting back his first retort of just what his bedside manner really was like, Sam bit his lip before replying, "Sorry, Ratchet. I'm just a little antsy. I hate doctor visits and to have one every month is just kind of…disconcerting."

"I am no human doctor, Sam." Ratchet sniffed with an annoyed huff of his intakes.

Sam rolled his eyes, "You know what I meant, Ratchet."

The red and white mech glanced over, humor glinting in his optics, "Yes, but let me get a little huffy if I want. I hardly get to do it otherwise."

Unable to cut off his laugh from the idea of Ratchet _not_ being huffy about anything and everything, Sam chortled into his hand as Ratchet continued his ministrations of his legs and feet.

Once the twins had rocketed out of their stasis lock and latched onto a clearly distressed Ratchet, Sam knew without a doubt that Ratchet's days of non-huffiness were at an end. They managed to get into more trouble then the rest of the awakened occupants combined.

They had removed their base from China and landed their ship outside Mission City in the desert surrounding it, far enough away that any city-dweller would have to be well drunk and aimlessly wandering to ever hope to come upon it.

It had taken a week for Sam to be introduced to all of the autobots. And then another week to reacquaint himself with them all over again after they had picked their alt-modes and had gone and changed their appearance so completely. He had almost had a heart attack after meeting Prowl again in his police cruiser mode; it had felt like Barricade all over again.

Prowl, being the level headed and genuinely caring tactician that Sam had immediately taken him for, had instantly offered to change his alt-mode into something else if it truly made him that uncomfortable. Sam had declined, it fit that Prowl would be a member of the police force. It seemed right. And Sam, if he had learned anything throughout this whole ideal, had learned to trust what _seemed_ right. So Prowl had kept his alt-mode.

Jazz, reawakened after Ratchet had re-commandeered his med bay from his assistant and then temporary CMO in his absence First Aid and all about created a miracle in restoring the saboteur (he claimed that it was the infinitely better technology made available to him over the "pathetic" earthian ones), had found the whole situation incredibly hilarious and would take to running away from Prowl every chance he got, screaming about evil Decepticon police cars.

Even Sam had to admit that it was rather funny. Well, funny until Red Alert had come out with not so idle threats that if Jazz gave him a false alarm one more time he would do something that Sam was only fairly sure was physically impossible with a chicken and Jazz's tailpipe. It did, however, stop Jazz from torturing Prowl for a while.

"It looks like you're doing just fine, Sam." Ratchet said. Sam shook his head and refocused his mind, he had been away in la la land again. Hopping off the examining table, Sam reached for his pile of clothing before slipping into them. The one good thing about Ratchet's exams versus a regular physician's (besides the fact that he got to visit the Ark and its inhabitants) was that the medic always kept his med bay at a comfortable temperature. It helped that whenever Sam had to strip down to his boxers for his monthly examination that the metal table he was forced into reclining on wasn't freezing.

Ratchet, noticing the human's quickness in dressing, let loose a sardonic smile and continued to put away the human sized tools he had used to examine Sam along with the rest of his tool-set, paying the much smaller items extra attention and care.

"That's great! Thanks, Ratchet. Am I free to go, now?" Sam asked hopefully. Ratchet turned to face him, pausing in putting away his tools and raising an optic ridge at the boy's eagerness.

"Bee said that we'd get to hang out after I'm done." Sam said, noticing Ratchet's look. It was strange, he reflected, that this more humanoid form of Ratchet in red and white was so much easier to read then his previous yellow one. After the reporters at China had gotten pictures of all the autobots, Ratchet and Ironhide had immediately changed their alt-modes so as to not be re-recognized. Ratchet, sticking with his medic car theme, had gone for an ambulance while Ironhide had gone for a red van. Now every time Ironhide came to pick him up Will couldn't help but snicker and Sam still didn't have the heart to tell the weapon's specialist the difference in assigned masculinity between an off-road truck and a family van. Optimus chose to stay with his own truck form so that he could remain as the mediator between the humans and the autobots, feeling that the humans would trust him more if he stopped playing with his image.

He was probably right. He always was, after all.

Bee had been reluctant to change. He liked his Camaro alt-mode and, really, so had Sam and Mikaela. Though now just really close friends, that didn't stop Sam and Mikaela from hanging out together. And when they went out on the town they liked being seen in the new Camaro and Sam also secretly thought that Bee enjoyed all the attention. The worry was unfounded, however, and Optimus had humorously informed Bee that since Sam's assorted neighbors didn't yet know how much contact they had with the boy, he would need to stay the same for appearances.

A wet slop hit him in the face and Sam backpedaled with a cry, "What the slag?" The curse rolled off his tongue with ease. He'd certainly heard the autobots use it enough, he would have been ashamed if he hadn't caught onto it by now.

"Watch your language! I don't let the twins get away with it in my presence and I most certainly won't let you!" Ratchet, the thrower of the rag that had smacked him in the face in the first place said, wagging a finger at him.

Sam just glowered. Another thing he had learned about the medic was that he had excellent aim—scarily good, actually. He could only be glad that Ratchet thought he was too fragile to throw his wrench at or he'd be a Sam-pâté by now.

"Thanks for the wake up, Ratchet." Sam grumbled, wiping his face off with his hands. The rag had been grease stained and some black had been lightly smeared onto his cheek.

"No problem, kid. You've been daydreaming a lot today, everything okay?" Ratchet asked and Sam was amused to note that he had unintentionally let a note of worry shine through.

"Just reminiscing. Something to take my mind off the whole examination, really." Sam replied simply with a small smile.

Ratchet snorted, "Insolent child. Get out before I decide you need another one!"

Sam laughed and he was about to exit when he turned for one last look at the medic. He stopped short, laughter dying on his lips as he took in the suddenly melancholy bot before him. Ratchet had been reorganizing his tools during their talk and he had paused over one sadly, staring at it was dim optics. Sam had been around the autobots long enough to know that the sign meant they were more than a little not happy.

Now Sam (As Mikaela was often prone to pointing out) wasn't the most sensitive of guys, he could admit that now, but even he could figure out that Ratchet didn't seem to be feeling all that great and just might need to talk about it.

"Hey man, what's up?" Sam asked quietly, stepping back into the med bay and walking closer to the stationary mech.

Ratchet turned from his worktable to stare down at the human before him, carefully setting down the instrument. It looked like a giant writing instrument to Sam; it was a long metal rod with a sort of blunt point at one end, almost like the knob at the tops of calligraphy pens. Forcibly shaking his head as if to rid it of his thoughts (a human habit that Sam haply claimed himself as the cause of) Ratchet replied softly, "It's nothing."

Sam quirked his own eyebrow and leaned onto one hip, "Give me some credit here, Doc. You've been poking and prodding me for the last hour to make sure I'd be okay. The least I can do is listen to make sure you are, too."

"The…tool just brought up some memories." The medic said quietly and Sam was struck dumb at how un-Ratchet the mumbled sentence sounded.

"Anything you want to talk about? Sometimes it helps—at least, for humans anyway. But you never know, y'know?" Sam rambled, gazing up at Ratchet in hope at being any kind of help.

Ratchet smiled tightly and Sam was again struck at how much easier it was to read his emotions in this form then his previous, "That instrument…it was used to chisel the new spark casings for sparkling's protoforms."

"Sparklings?" Sam had been around the Ark a lot but that was one word he hadn't ever heard. If it was what he thought it was, however, then it didn't much surprise him.

"Sam—I…I don't want to seem callous. I know that what you did with the Allspark was a necessary act. Please do not doubt for a moment that I blame you for anything. Nor would I have you think you could have done anything differently." Ratchet said softly, turning his head and making eye to optic contact.

Sam felt a brief flare of guilt as Ratchet all but confirmed what "sparkling" meant. He let himself momentarily wallow in his self pity about his uncanny ability to completely destroy an entire race before he ruthlessly crushed it down. Optimus and he had a long conversation about it after the fight and he had gotten all his boohooselfangst over and done with a long time ago, thank you very much.

"I still want to apologize." Sam said, breaking the visual contact. Then a thought occurred to him. He had never thought to ask because he'd just assumed the answer was negative. Wrenching his head up in something akin to hope he voiced his question meanwhile mentally hitting himself over the head, after a year with alien robot friends one would think he would know better to assume by now, "Is there any other way to create a sparkling?"

Ratchet glanced over him contemplatively, his look of barely controlled sadness in check once again as he busied his hands with his tools, "Other ways? Well…no, not really. What we do—It's…slightly similar to what humans do. Slightly. We're not nearly as messy."

Sam, eager to hear more, encouraged the medic with a nod. Maybe he wasn't such a destroyer of races as he thought! A small flame of hope flickered briefly and he refused to let it be gutted by the fact that if there really was any other way then Optimus or Bee would have told him by now rather then let him live in his pathetic pity for so long.

Ratchet, catching the look, continued hesitantly, "We engage in a sort of, ah, 'intercourse,' as well." At Sam's second and more eager-hopeful nod, Ratchet let out a resigned batch of air from his intakes before slowly lowering himself to eye level with the human, speaking his next words slowly, "But for it to result in a sparkling we would need the Allspark's compliance and, well, needless to say that it won't be acquiescing to anything anymore."

"There's no female bots or something?" Sam, once again desperate to keep his hope from completely going out, snagged the idea out of a conversation he had overheard between Hound and Mirage.

"Female bots?" Ratchet's optics dimmed and Sam took it to mean he was Google searching something, "Yes, I suppose we do. Though gender is more of a human concept than an autobot one. Any of us could get 'pregnant,'—I could, Bumblebee could, even Optimus."

Decidedly _not_ thinking about any mental images that those thoughts brought up, Sam determinedly asked again, "Then how's a female bot different than a male one? If they're not meant for reproduction."

"Femmes are different then mechs in function. Mechs, in general, are more aggressive, the femmes are more agile, quick, lithe. Caregivers as well. The divide is not so much a gender one as a functional one." Ratchet explained while keeping his optics on the human. He knew that Sam still felt for them about his defensive destruction of the Allspark, and he was afraid that this conversation was getting to close to the idea of their race being doomed. It was true that they lived quite longer than humans, but the idea of no longer having any little ones was a horribly overpowering one.

But still one he'd rather Sam not have to bear on his shoulders.

Sam blushed a bit, "Isn't that a bit, I dunno, sexist?"

Ratchet rolled his optics, "Cybotronians are different then humans, Sam. From the minute your spark enters your body, your CPU has been programmed towards certain applications and your body has been given certain traits that enable you to excel in certain areas. There is no reason for 'sexism,' in autobots—we're preprogrammed for our duties. You humans…you're all born as unorganized, unknown variables. Your functions aren't discernible by gender. Men and women are not like femmes and mechs in so literal a sense that sexism can be so simply applied."

Sam blinked as his mind tried to wrap around the concept. Ratchet smiled a bit as he noticed the self anger leave Sam, at least he had stopped thinking about sparklings and the Allspark. Slag him to the pits for even bringing it up! He was a medical officer, he should be able to control his emotions better than that. Especially if it meant the metal health of one of his patients. Ratchet's smile immediately turned into a frown aimed at himself.

"I…think I get it." Sam said at last.

"For the sake of convenience, I'll pretend that I believe you." Ratchet said dryly, standing up and pushing the last of his tools into their place and shaking himself out of his musings. What was done was done, there was no changing it now.

Sam smiled up at him before the frown stole across his features again, his shoulders slouching. Ratchet sighed as that bend in his shoulders returned again, he had thought they had gotten past it! "I really am sorry—"

"Don't worry about it Sam, you did what you had to do and you saved us all." When Sam still refused to look like he believed him, Ratchet did his best to smile at the boy. He was such a slaghead! He should have never brought up such an obviously painful subject, no matter how much the boy had pestered him about it, "It'll be fine, Sam. _I'll_ be fine."

Sam nodded in reluctant acceptance and patted one of Ratchet's legs with a small, somewhat-attempt at certainty and for just a moment as he made contact he wished Ratchet could actually see sparklings again. Flinching as static electricity tickled his fingers where it met Ratchet's frame, Sam thanked the medic one last time before heading out the doors.

Lost in his thoughts, Sam hardly paid attention to where he was heading, bumping lightly into an amused Prowl and Wheeljack before finally making his way to the exit of the Ark where his guardian beeped a greeting at him. Smiling slightly, despite his downward train of thoughts, Sam bopped the hood in an answering hello.

And drew it back sharply at the sharp loop of static that flowed into his hand at the contact, making it tingle.

A concerned honk from the car before him had Sam laughing it off and, shaking his hand to get rid of the numbness, he climbed into Bee's interior and almost immediately after the human was inside, Bee slammed the door and tore out of the Ark, heading down the road towards Tranquility.

Sam laughed, "Excited, I see! Where we headed?"

"_Take my hand, off to Never Never Land._"

Sam stared at the dashboard in incredulity, "So…I'll take that as somewhere fun?"

"_Come and get the fun, cause you know I'll give you some. Just you and me, crazy._" Bee's engine roared with the radio.

"I know you're excited when you start playing Spice Girls," Sam said wryly, rolling his eyes, "I just need to pick a few things up at home and then we can go do whatever you want."

"_Yeah, we'll look at the stars when we're together. Well it's always better when we're together._" Bee's radio played. Sam shook his head with a smile, it had been far too long since they had spent any time together—he missed the long talks they would have. Spying a cop that was defiantly not Prowl coming up behind them, Sam fought down the panic he still managed to feel every time he saw the black and white of a police car and grasped the seatbelt, tugging it over himself and buckling it before lightly placing his hands on the wheel in the pretense of driving. At the small shock when his hands met the leather, Sam frowned. It wasn't as strong as before, but really, what was with the static electricity today? Did he forget to put the dryer sheet in last time he did his laundry?

Shaking off the thought, Sam pushed it to the back of his mind. It was just some excess static, nothing to worry about. Ratchet had just given him a complete physical and there was no way he would have missed anything. He was perfectly fine.

When his chest gave a slight stab of pain, however, Sam had a harder time convincing himself.

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Thank you so, so, _so_ much for getting through that. You have no idea what it means to me. This first chapter was the hardest for me to write because I had some of the overload and small interaction passages written, but I didn't have a beginning. This one, while shaky, is the best I could come up with and I'm so sorry that many of the autobots aren't in this. The next chapter is just Ratchet and the twins, so no worries about it there! I also didn't really know what Ironhide's alt-mode was in the G1 series, so I said it was a van. Please correct me if this is not right so I can change it! And please review, it lets me know if it's worth putting up the next chapter or not. Thank you again for getting through it and rest assured that the robot smex is coming up!


	2. Double Teamed

I am completely and utterly overwhelmed by you all. I had been having a lackluster day and I came in to find all these kind and supporting words and it all about _made_ my day. You all are my life. To show my appreciation I wanted to get this out asap. It's a little smaller then the first, and I'm so sorry about that! The next few will also be somewhat smaller, but they have the mech on mech action/situations if that helps at all. This is my first "mature" writing and I'm a little worried about the reception. Please let me know if it bombed or if it actually made some kind of sense. Any critique concerning it would be more than welcome, I'm just starting and I would love help of those more experienced than I.

Thanks again to Cheysuli-Night and SkyHighFan for pointing out my whole Iornhide vs. Ironhide dilemma. My atrocious spelling strikes again! Also, thank you again to those of you that wished me good luck on my midterm—I've even started studying because of you, so thanks a million. Also a huge, genormus thanks to Kesera who was kind enough to give me an e-mail that helped me with all the lingering grammar mistakes in the first chapter.

I hope you enjoy the Ratchet/Twins action and thanks again for reading!

Edit: Thanks to Azkadellia, I changed a few more of my hideous spelling errors. Thanks a bunch!

Edit 2: Thanks a million to Kesera who, out of the kindness of her heart, has become my impromptu de facto beta. Thank you and I'm glad fanfics can be educational. See? They help you study!

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As Sam left his med bay, Ratchet shuttered his optics and leaned heavily against his workbench. How could he have been so unfeeling? He _knew_ the boy still harbored guilt about the Allspark's destruction and he had to go and dredge it back up again. Muttering obscenities under his breath, Ratchet onlined his optics and stepped away from his workstation, snagging a cleaning instrument and heading towards the human sized berth to do cleanup before getting the paper work in his office completed. He shuddered a bit at the thought of the stacks of datapads waiting for his signature. Since First Aid had only been the temporary CMO in Ratchet's absence, Ratchet was still responsible to sign off on all his procedures. It was a necessary evil for the speed at which they had set off from Cybertron. They hadn't had time to completely instate First Aid as a CMO and so had done a quick fix of making him a temporary one, and Prowl (Ratchet's obscenities reached a high point at thoughts of the tactician) was now determined that all the paperwork should be completed for the record's sake.

Taking a few steps towards the berth, Ratchet suddenly froze. All at once the air grew thick and sludgy. Blinking his optics slowly, sound dwindled until it filtered through his audios sparingly, the instrument slipping through his unprocessing fingers. Ratchet watched, as almost in slow motion, it clanked to the floor, rebounded, clanked again, and rolled under the recovery berth that was still a little ways ahead of him.

His CPU floundering in a haze, the disturbed air and sharp sound of the med-bay doors as they opened were still barely distinguishable. Turning his head slowly as if through a thick paste, Ratchet stared blankly at the two forms fumbling through the door.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were focused solely on the bickering argument between them and failed to notice the blankly staring CMO.

"We've got to get it fixed, Sunny!" the red twin implored as they rushed into the med-bay.

"What do you mean, 'we'? It was your idea to mess with Ironhide's extra set of canons! _And_ you're the one who broke them!" Sunstreaker yelled back as they crossed the threshold and the door closed gently behind them. And then, after a beat as if just remembering something particularly frustrating, "And don't call me Sunny!"

"Yes, yes. Whatever you say, Sunny." Sideswipe replied and Sunstreaker snarled in return.

Glaring into his twin's smile of innocence, Sunstreaker relented into a soft growl. Honestly, the things he did for family, "Let's just get them fixed and back to old bucket-head before he finds out and uses us for target practice, okay? My paint can't take that at the moment—it's in a delicate drying stage."

Rolling his optics at his twin, Sideswipe nodded his head in amused agreement and turned to locate the medic who would be the savior of them all—that is if he didn't beat them over the head for their stupidity first.

Spotting said medic at a workstation, Sideswipe felt a brief stab of worry. Usually when they entered just willy-nilly Ratchet almost immediately started screaming about respecting his workspace. Or something. Sideswipe didn't really know for sure, he never really listened. With the lack of screaming as a pleasant background noise, however, he had just assumed that Ratchet was off in his office or out at the moment. Setting the arm canon that they had come in to have fixed down on a nearby table, Sideswipe walked over to the eerily quiet mech, his twin following with equal puzzlement. Lowering his optic ridges in concern, Sideswipe tried to catch the medic's attention, "Ratchet?"

Focusing sharply at the sound of his name, Ratchet's optics swiveled and locked onto the twin's forms. Heat, sudden and hard and almost unbearably intense, swept through Ratchet's frame. Internal alarms blared at him as his suddenly thundering circuits reached dangerous levels, warning that his fans were an astrosecond away from stuttering on to forcibly cool him down.

Sunstreaker, by this time, was also beginning to become uneasy. Not concerned. No, Sideswipe and he had a special relationship with Ratchet, to be sure—they got messed up, Ratchet yelled at and fixed them, they laughed, got messed up again, and Ratchet continued to yell at and fix them. It was a treasured constant in Sunstreaker's life and if he was going to be worried over anything it would be for the break in the routine, not the medic. He didn't care about the smaller, blocky, vaguely attractive—

Ah…he didn't care, and that was that. End of story.

"Hey? Ratchet? Is everything okay—" Sideswipe choked off as Ratchet reached up and trailed a hand over his neck wiring, optics still and dark and silently staring at his hand that seemed to move independently of his processors. Sunstreaker stared at the medic and his brother, locking shocked optics with his red twin over Ratchet's shoulder.

Sunstreaker cleared his vocal processor, "Ratchet—" The medic's other hand shot out and harshly covered over the yellow twin's mouth, stroking the lips almost instantaneously with apology for his rapid movement. With one hand on each twin, Ratchet petted absentmindedly, entranced with the movement of both his limbs and watching their progress leisurely.

A sudden click disturbed the uncanny silence and Sideswipe's fans began to whirr as his systems refused to remain immune to the soft touches over his sensitive neck wiring. Sunstreaker had about a nanoclick to stare incredulously at his mortified brother before lips crashed against his and he was knocked to the floor. A startled squeak choked off by a moan told him that Sideswipe had found himself in the same predicament. And that Ratchet was doing something with the hand that he couldn't see and that he must be doing something _good_ because he hadn't heard his brother make that sound since—

"Gah…" Sunstreaker panted as Ratchet's _other_ hand, the one that was crushed between them, stroked down his chassis and slipped between his hip struts and twisted in the wiring there, tugging lightly.

Oh. _Oh._ Sideswipe echoed his thoughts and Sunstreaker choked back a moan against the CMO's lips as he _imagined_ what Ratchet must be doing to his twin. The double sensations of a phantom mental pleasure and the actuality of the physical one combined to throw his processor haywire and all thoughts of _blankoptics_and_mustnotknowwhathesdong_ were temporarily thrown out of his CPU and it was all he could do to crush his own lips back against the responsive medic, reaching his own hand down and drawing it up the back of Ratchet's legs to roughly thrust it in and tug, drawing a moan from the medic on top of him.

He felt another hand join him on the sensitive wiring and Sunstreaker realized that his brother must also have gotten tired of the passive role. Opening a COM link, even a private one, would have been absolutely impossible right then with the lockdowns his systems were automatically enforcing as they tried to prevent the inevitable overheating, so Sunstreaker was forced to expand the small mental channel between him and his twin—an idea that, while pleasurable in that he could talk mind to mind, also detracted from the amount of concentration he could pay to the panting puddle of mech between him and his brother.

Reaching out slowly, he gave the equivalent of a soft knock on his brother's mind. A moment of astonishment, then acceptance, and he was engulfed in all that _was_ Sideswipe. He moaned as the sensations doubled, tripled. He could feel Ratchet's ongoing shaky touches on his inner wiring as well as a strong echo of Ratchet's other touches through Sideswipe's frame. The resulting sensations were…enjoyable, and it immediately sent off more warnings about eminent overload and already overtaxed fans continued to strain towards their limits.

:Br…Brother?: Sideswipe questioned, even his mental voice breathy with pleasure.

Sunstreaker realized that he had been quiet for far too long, his concentration shot through magnificently, and was quick to reply :The floor's chipping my paint:

A mental laugh :You didn't come to talk only about your aesthetics did you? Because I'm a little—ah!—busy at the mo—moment.: Sideswipe's consciousness fizzed out for a second and Sunstreaker could hear him moan long and hard with his physical audios. He shuttered his optics and disentangled his mind slightly. What was—

His thoughts shut off completely and he had to work to keep his consciousness comprehending of anything other than _feeling_ as Ratchet's hand that was still embedded in his wiring gave a slight jolt of electricity that sent his electrical nerves on fire. It jumped from processor to processor and ran straight to his spark chamber in continual waves of bright, pulsing pleasure. His spark, throbbing with growing need, thrust to meet every wave. Sunstreaker screamed, his vocals shorting out at the sensation.

:Primus!: he shouted at Sideswipe, who, at the moment could do nothing but send un-worded agreement over the bond. Not to be outdone, Sunstreaker grabbed a better hold on the medic and twisted until Ratchet's side met the floor and he was now lying completely between the twins instead of sprawled over the both of them. With their new leverage, both twins plunged their hands into the medic's body, grabbed the wires there, and gave their own pulse of energy.

Ratchet mewled and struggled against them, his frame shuttering at the intense feedback his systems were sending as his spark leapt rapidly from side to side in its casing, attempting to meet the two strands of electrical impulse simultaneously. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, however, aware of what they were doing to the medic, purposely made their timing at odds, forcing his spark to feel each of their pulses separately, the feelings induced doubled in their forced intensity. Ratchet, his spark aching at the twofold sensation pushed into it, moaned and cried out, his CPU overflowing with the pleasure.

:Sunny, tell me what you want now, because if he makes that noise _one more time_—:

Sunstreaker growled at the nickname, but for the sake of brevity just pretended not to hear it :Doesn't this seem odd to you? I mean, where the _slag_ did this come from?:

A sudden sense of incredulity and shock was thrown haphazardly over the bond. Most of Sideswipe's attention was on the squirming medic between them, he couldn't be bothered to use words.

Sunstreaker tightened his hold on the wiring between his hands and caressed a small cluster of circuitry, causing Ratchet to lock up and throw his head back with his loudest moan yet. Sunstreaker could hear his brother choke and he knew that they both couldn't last much longer.

:We just came in here and he—gah!—he just _jumped_ us. Does that sound like Ratchet to you?:

:At the moment, Sunny, I can't really—really, be to co—oh!—concerned about it. Usually you're not so…so…aghhh…inquisitive about these things.:

:I'm just worried, tha—ah!—t's all.: Sunstreaker panted, his intakes clearing as the medic finally got his own hands working and his own electrical impulses started again. Sunstreaker could feel his spark stretching out for its other half on the other side of Ratchet, and Sideswipe's reaching for his. Then, in hardly a nanoclick, his spark's pulse changed and instead of reaching _over_ the medic's spark, it was trying to reach _through_it. The echoed groan of the two mechs next to him announced that they also felt the change. It was as if his spark was recognizing Ratchet's as a part of itself now, too, and it was trying to string all three of them together, to reach through all their chassis's and merge all three thundering pulses.

The increased electrical sensitivity that came from their sparks pulsing in time was enough to make Sunstreaker forget that he was still waiting for his brother to say something. When Sideswipe's mental voice invaded the fog that currently surrounded his CPU, it came as a small shock :We can figure it out…it out…ughh!—later! Yes? Later!:

Sunstreaker wasn't a saint. He had said his piece and right now he was _just_ this side of one of the best overloads he'd ever had in his life and if Sideswipe said they could deal with it later then they would. Later. Much, much later.

He sent his un-worded agreement over the bond, no longer considering intelligent mental replies worth the concentration. A breathy laugh returned his message and then Sideswipe's side of the bond was cut off and since they couldn't (and didn't really want to) shut the bond off completely, Sunstreaker could still feel the barest hint of Sideswipe's pleasure.

Sunstreaker growled into the audios of the mech between him and his twin, the vibration of his growl reverberating through his frame and his engine rumbled an echo between them, causing the medic to let out another unrestrained cry of pleasure and then, in a move that Sunstreaker didn't even think mechs could _do_, Ratchet clenched both his hands into fists and sent out, instead of the brief electrical pulses that were the norm, one large bundle of energy and routed it directly to both twin's sparks.

Sunstreaker screamed and his voice processor phased out at the sensation as the electrified ball of energy met with his spark. Sunstreaker shuddered and the flashing warnings that he had been steadfastly ignoring shrieked at him and he only had the barest conscious realization that the echoing sounds were of his brother and his medic also screaming their own release before his optics off-lined and his CPU forcibly followed suit.

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So...liked it? Hated it? Have any suggestions to make the next chapter any better? Please, let me know! The next couple up for bat is Bluestreak/Wheeljack and unfortunately it's only going to be a heavy PG-13. But I've got one more smex chapter coming up, so no worries! Thanks again for reading, the fact that you do makes me so happy.


	3. Chemicals of Eroding Doom

So it seems these chapters are just staying this length. I'm sorry, it'll get better! The chapter after the next one'll be a long one, I promise! These things just refuse to go any longer then what they want.

Thank you to all of you who reviewed last chapter, it really helps me to get these things written. Knowing that there are people out there who actually _read_ this stuff is a really good kick in the pants to get me working on it. Thank you also for all your helpful comments concerning my first overload/smex scene and I'll try to apply it to the next chapter which will be _much_ more of an "M" chapter than this one. This is sort of a PG-13—I wasn't up to writing so much smut and managing to make it read different. I got the feeling that if I wrote too much more at this stage it'd eventually just blend together and sound like the same chapter just with different mech's names. So sorry about the lack of smut but stay with me till next chapter! It's some Prowl/Jazz fun-ness!

An extra humongous pile of thanking goes to Kesera who has officially deigned me worthy enough to become my beta-reader. The most amazing person, if only because of the willingness to wade through my spelling and grammar errors. Also pointed out and helped me with Wheeljack's mask issue. Thank you!

Thanks also to The Greatest Boba Fett Fan, .groove, and Azkadellia who were kind enough to lend me some extra constructive criticism. They pointed out a few more of those spelling errors that I seem so prone to.

Right, that's enough of _that_ author's note. Enjoy!

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"When any sense of ours records intense, pleasure or pain, then the whole soul is drawn by such impressions into that one sense…"

"Ooooooh, did you just rhyme?"

"It was a quote. It's not like I had a choice."

"It's adorable."

"Don't start with me, brat."

"Does somebody need a hug?"

"You try it and you'll find yourself in so many parts that not even all the kings' men would be able to put you back together again."

"…did you do that one on purpose?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. I'm counting on the fact that you'll never know to drive you completely insane. Is it working?"

"I refuse to play into your little games and answer that."

"I'll take that as a most definite yes, then."

"Now who's being a brat?"

"Still you. I'm too old to be a brat."

"Perhaps I should say who's being the irritable, ornery old mech then?"

"You could, but my threat still stands."

"Fine. You be that way."

"Don't worry, I will."

"Good."

"Yes."

"Brilliant."

"Indeed."

"Stupendous."

"Absolutely."

"…At least let me have the last word!"

"No."

"Agh!"

"Just so we're clear, that doesn't count as a word."

Wheeljack snickered as Bluestreak let out another mindless frustrated noise. He absolutely loved torturing the younger mech. Though, he supposed, Blue _had_ been nice enough to help him out in his lab today—the least he could do was pretend to let him win a verbal battle.

Trying his hardest to control his laughing, Wheeljack still felt at ease in letting his smile creep up at the corners of his mouth, his ever present mask hiding the smirk, "All right Blue, you win. I'll let you have the last word."

"No. I don't want it anymore." Bluestreak said, turning his face away from the engineer with a pout, though he was still careful to keep a firm hold on the vial of swirling blue liquid he had been coerced into holding. It had been the gunner's idea in the first place for Wheeljack to read to him via the internet—he had been desperate for anything that could relieve the boredom of holding a vial for what seemed like several cycles but that could only really have been a breem or two. Wheeljack was always so silent when experimenting. Having him read a file off the internet was often the only chance Blue got to break the monotonous silence. But when he had started to spout off _Dante_ of all earthian authors, Bluestreak had found it justly within his rights to interrupt.

"Don't be so petulant," Wheeljack admonished, rolling his optics and carefully adding three drops from a pink solution into the vial Blue was holding. Having another mech there with him while he worked always strangely helped him focus—he loved the added input at his disposal. Even the most unscientifically inclined bots sometimes had the most interesting and thought provoking questions for him. Unfortunately, he always had trouble finding anyone willing to help him when he was working with potentially combustible chemicals. Go figure. Even Bumblebee had made a mad dash for the Ark's door with the excuse of meeting Sam when Wheeljack had tried to ensnare the little yellow bot's help.

"I know you are but what am I?" Blue shot back, eyeing the turkey baster that Wheeljack had used to drip the chemical in. Wheeljack snickered at the childish human saying as he drew his mismatched instrument away from his mate's hand. Unfortunately for Bluestreak, being his lover had all about guaranteed that he would be roped into "volunteering" if no one else had been found to be the sacrificial victim first.

"And how are using earth-child sayings going to prove your maturity at all here, Blue?" Wheeljack absentmindedly shot back, his mind more on the bubbling mixture before him then the continuing argument.

"Is this thing gonna, I dunno, burn a hole in my hand or something, 'Jack? Because I like that hand. If it's gonna burn through a hand, I'd rather it be the other one." Blue said, still eyeing the chemicals. He winced as a bubble spilled over the top and dripped down onto his finger. Luckily, the wince was more from surprise than actual hurt—the chemical wasn't toxic to autobots, thankfully. Why'd he have to hold it again? Didn't they have _stands_ for this sort of thing?

"No, you whiney thing, it's not going to hurt you," Wheeljack responded, jotting a few more things onto his handheld datapad, "Besides, I like both your hands. I'd rather not have either of them burned."

Raising an optic ridge, Blue just had to take the setup, "Like my hands, do you? Because I can think of a thousand other things they'd rather be doing for you then holding this thing. _To_ you, even."

"Blue…"Wheeljack admonished, breaking his gaze from his notes and lightly glaring at the gunner beside him. A sudden stab of heat from his spark momentarily caused his focus to haze, but Wheeljack shook it off. Where had that come from?

"What? You _weren't_ expecting a pun?" Blue shrugged and leaned against the table they were standing around, stepping around the towering and slightly leaning piles of old datapads by force of habit.

"I suppose." Wheeljack answered sardonically.

"So…" Bluestreak began, drawing the vial he was holding closer to his optics to see it better, "Why'd I have to be holding this thing again? Why not use one of those metal stand thingies?"

"'Metal stand thingies'?" Wheeljack sighed and shook his head, laying his datapad of notes down on the table and snagging the vial from the gunner, "Because."

"…Yes? Because of what now?" Bluestreak prompted after a short silence.

"Just cause." Wheeljack repeated, his ear-fins flashing in humor.

"So you had me holding potentially dangerous chemicals 'just cause,' did you?" Blue growled, pushing off from the table and advancing on the engineer.

"Not exactly…"Wheeljack added, his voice rising as he quickly backed away from the advancing mech, weaving around the other tables full of dangerous looking objects and liquids and the stacks of datapads that constantly cluttered the room, "It's not that dangerous! It didn't even burn you!"

"Beside the point, 'Jack." Bluestreak growled, continuing to advance on the other mech, pleased when he realized that Wheeljack had managed to drive himself into a corner of his lab, "No where to run now…"

"Oh come on, Blue! Look, it's just a modified energon goodie!" Wheeljack tried to placate the advancing mech, retracting his mask and upending the vial into his mouth.

Blue felt a brief stab of absolute _horror_ at the realization that his lover was drinking _anything_ that he had made in his own lab until the inventor's words caught up to his CPU and he could process what that meant. By the time Blue stopped having minor CPU crashes, Wheeljack had swallowed the goodie and was waving the empty vial as proof of its lack of danger.

"See? Nothing bad!" The engineer smiled reassuringly and, with his mask still retracted down into his mandible plating, Blue could easily see it. Blue smiled a bit internally, it had taken him _forever _to get Wheeljack to give him a chance—not to mention how long it took for him to take off the bloody mask. Once he had, though, it was as if it didn't quite matter if the gunner saw him without it anymore and he frequently had it down if it was just the two of them. Bluestreak still hadn't figured out yet _why_ Wheeljack felt the need to wear it, but he _had_ figured out that he would tell him the reason given time.

Blue had enough problems of his own to know how irritating it was when people tried to figure them all out. The engineer would tell him when he was ready; the same went for Blue and his issues.

"So let me get this straight," Blue said, the internal smile nonetheless creeping into his voice despite his attempts to clamp down on it and completely ruining the evil gravely tone he had been going for, "You had me holding _energon goodies_ while letting me think it was something like _eroding evil chemicals of doom_?"

"Well, I didn't exactly plan out the whole 'eroding evil chemicals of doom' aspect…" Wheeljack said and Blue caught the small smirk that his mate forgot to hide as he said it. Blue loved it when Wheeljack left off his mask not only for the trust it showed, but for the emotions it did as well. The engineer had worn it for so long that when it was off he was absolutely _horrible_ at hiding any of them. It was beautiful.

"I think you should be punished for that, sir." Blue said in a smooth voice, his optics glinting, parodying the term of respect.

"And what punishment would that be, solider?" Wheeljack shot back, his own optics gleaming with mirth, flickering slightly. The heat from before came back tenfold and he had to force down a gasp at it.

"I can think of a few things." Blue said, his voice going husky for a different reason as he inched over towards the mech in the corner, backing him against the wall.

"Looks to me that you're just all talk and no action." Wheeljack remarked, his own voice drawn and tight. His spark, pulsing already from the unknown heat, made his whole body supersensitive, the smoldering cold fire within reaching towards the contrasting heat from the mech before him and away from the freezing metal at his back, causing his whole frame to shiver in anticipation and startling need.

"You want _action_, do you?" Blue purred into Wheeljack's audios, causing the older mech to groan and arch into the gunner.

"Maybe. You going do anything about it?" Wheeljack responded unsteadily, drawing one hand up the side of Blue's right doorwing, causing the other bot to shudder in return.

"Slag yes," Blue said before crushing his lips against the other's, pressing his back into the wall. Wheeljack responded in kind, roughly thrusting his chassis up to meet Blue's, forcing their frames into contact, the connection drawing another groan from both their vocal processors. The small crash of the vial meeting the floor and shattering fell on deaf audios, both mechs momentarily lost to the world and completely immersed within the slowly brewing sensations.

"Somebody's eager. I don't think we've ever done it in your lab before…" Blue mumbled after they broke apart, smoothing his hand down his partner's chassis before slipping it into a gap and stroking the wires there.

"Seems to me that we should rectify that mistake." Wheeljack gasped at the sensation, his hands responding in kind. It was true, he _was_ a bit more eager than usual. It was just…it felt like he needed Blue, so badly. Now, more than ever. His spark was burning for him. Wheeljack spent about a second considering the fact that he was tired of simple overloads before he promptly decided that he wanted more. His optics flickering, he spoke shakily, "Take me? Here?"

"Wh-What?" Blue stuttered, momentarily shocked as he jerked back to stare optic to optic, knowing that his partner meant more than just an overload. They'd managed those before just fine, but they'd never done anything at the level Wheeljack seemed to be implying, "Wheeljack, what are you asking?"

"Sparks…" Wheeljack moan-whispered into Blues audios. The grey mech shivered as the air from the older mech's intakes brushed over his facial plates in a phantom caress.

Blue was no stranger to his partner's spark; they'd interfaced with each other enough times in the past that their sparks' pulses could correspond almost at the start of their lovemaking. But connecting sparks, actually opening their chassis and having their two sparks come into _contact_…that would lay bare too many past events that Blue had _thought_ they hadn't been ready to talk about just yet. There was no room for secrets after a spark-bond.

"I don't…Wheeljack, what do you _mean_?" Blue gasped out, locking optics with the mech between him and the wall. He was startled to find that his mate's optics were slightly offlined—dark and harshly empty.

"Take me. Bond with me. Please, Blue?" Wheeljack asked with a whine of need, rubbing one hand up and down Bluestreak's doorwing. The sensation combined with the nickname that he knew Wheeljack knew he loved hearing caused his CPU to momentarily cease functioning, his own optics offlining in reaction. The small skip in his processors was almost enough to make him forget that this wasn't a decision they should be rushing headlong into. He pushed the eerie thoughts of his engineer's optics to the back of his CPU, the slightly off-feeling forgotten in favor of much more pleasant ones.

"But_now_? Isn't it a little…sudden?" Bluestreak choked out once he started to process again. Wheeljack's continuing caresses against his doorwings were _not_ helping in his efforts to think clearly.

"_Blue_…" Wheeljack mewled. That was it for Blue. Whenever Wheeljack made that noise Blue couldn't help but give him whatever it was he wanted.

Including, apparently, his soul.

* * *

A note on the last part: I'm just going with the fact that an autobot's spark is like the human's soul/heart/mind/etc. And while I know an autobot might not exactly _think_ in those kinds of human terms, this was the only way I could think to end this chapter without it feeling unconcluded. Sorry if that trips anyone up! Once again, thank you for reviewing and if you have anything to say please feel free (PLEASE?) to leave a review. They're the bright point in my life. Next chapter's going to be Prowl/Jazz so fans rejoice! Yay!


	4. The Grey Area

Update? Why yes, thank you. I'm sorry peoples, my school work has taken over my life. It's midterm/project/wemakeyousuffer time at college and my free time has flown far far away from me. I'm sorry to say that the updating might follow this slow timeline for a little while. That is, until spring break comes around and then I should be able to get a bit more done. Quarter schools just go _so fast_ and I'm a little overwhelmed at the moment. Thanks for staying with me, though, and I hope this chapter comes across okay. It's my second attempt at an overload chapter and I can only hope that it reads different than the Twins/Ratchet one.

Much love again goes to Kesera who was kind enough to wade through my first draft and offer wonderful beta-like responses. The gratitude and appreciation for the lack of grammar and spelling mistakes goes must humbly to her. I also want to do a shout out to three other people who've managed to keep me sane throughout these turbulent waters of school work with their helpful words and wonderful conversations. Azkadellia, Dragowolf, ryagelle—thank you all so much for everything and know that, even though I may take _forever_ to respond to you, it really means a lot to me that you continue to talk with me.

Once again, as well, THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR REVIEWING! It helped me keep up with my work and, strangely enough, made me study. So thank you lots, peoples!

Another round of thanking goes to those who were kind enough to help me out with my misspellings and whatnot in the previous chapters: The Greatest Boba Fett Fan, .groove, and Azkadellia.

And with that, please enjoy the Prowl/Jazz goodness!

**Edit: .groove and ryagelle have once again been kind enough to point out my (freaking IRRITATING) spelling errors once again, so thank you for that!**

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"The cake is a lie." Jazz said, face straight and visor flashing in the florescent light.

Prowl, needless to say, was a little confused at the statement. His constantly typing digits froze above the keyboard of his computer station and he slowly turned in his chair to face the grinning mech leaning against the entrance to his office. An entrance that the visored mech hadn't even _knocked_ on before entering. Fingers twitching, Prowl filed that small insubordination away for a second in favor of trying to puzzle out what exactly the mech before him meant by his rather obscure comment.

And got nothing.

Prowl resisted the urge to growl in frustration. He had one of the most sophisticated battle computers that had ever been constructed and still he found it almost completely impossible to predict the other black and white mech. In fact, the only thing he could predict was his unpredictability. With a resigned sigh of his intakes, Prowl relaxed his fingers completely and turned fully to face the still grinning mech (if anything the damned smirk had gotten bigger) that was now a little within his doorway, "…what?"

Grin growing to proportions where Prowl was surprised that it didn't split his faceplates in half, Jazz fully stepped away from the doorway and the automatic door whooshed closed behind him, "Nothing. Just wanted to get your attention, Prowlie."

An almost undetectable tick twisted up the corner of one of Prowl's optic ridges at the nickname. An unobservant mech would have missed it completely. Jazz, however, was the head of Special Ops. He was _made_ for observing things.

Catching the slight twitch, Jazz's optics glinted under the visor, "So…now that I_do_ have your attention, Prowlie," twitch, "I just wanted to know what you had planned for the rest of the day. I have it on good authority that you're off duty right now, Prowlie," another twitch and Jazz was thrilled to realize that it was starting to become more and more prominent as he continued on, "and since I am, too, I'm here to make sure that you take this break and come with me to get some energon and then it's off to the recharge berth for you. Got that, Prowlie?"

"Jazz…" Prowl growled, decorum temporarily forgotten. If there ever was a mech that could get under his skin it would be the saboteur before him. Jazz hummed low in his throat. It didn't seem to have taken much to push Prowl over the edge today. He must really be in some serious need of recharge.

"Yes, yes," Jazz interrupted, striding over to Prowl and tugging him to his feet by an arm, "The whole, 'You're being insubordinate again, Jazz!' and 'You can't do that, I'm a superior officer!' or 'I know my limits!' Blah, blah. We all know how it's gonna turn out, so let's just skip that part, m'kay?" Jazz continued on, tugging lightly at the appendage in his grip. When Prowl refused to respond in any way to his impersonation or insistent nudges, Jazz grew concerned and looked back at the other mech's face.

"Prowl?" Jazz questioned, staring into the blank optics before him.

Prowl, on the other hand, was overcome by the strangest of feelings. At Jazz's touch, everything seemed to stop. He knew it was impossible, his CPU wasn't damaged, but it was almost as if time had…come to a halt. Other things just…weren't there. Everything had narrowed down to Jazz's hand griping his arm and Jazz's lips slowly forming words that he realized he should be hearing but the noise just seemed to filter smoothly around him.

"…Prowl? Man, are you okay? Should I get Ratchet—" Jazz started when suddenly Prowl sprang into motion, throwing the startled saboteur off his feet and tumbling them both to the floor.

Prowl had come to the completely rational and logical decision that Jazz was talking too much. He didn't need to be, there was absolutely no reason for him to be talking. And really, his frame was so nice and pleasantly cold and Prowl just realized that he was _hot_. Burning from the inside and the only thing that seemed cool to him was the startled mech underneath him. Pressing his chassis against the squirming mech, Prowl growled into Jazz's neck, nuzzling the exposed wiring absentmindedly.

Jazz, who had started a train of objections the moment Prowl had knocked him to the ground, halted with an embarrassed squeak at the tactician's actions, "Prowl? You've got to stop doing that, man. I mean…it's not like you're hard on the optics or anything, but I—"

Jazz just needed to stop talking, Prowl decided. In conjunction with his thoughts, he stretched his neck up and sealed his lips over the open ones of the saboteur mid-word, halting the flow of noise and, by the choked sound he could feel as much as hear, the flow of air as well. Skimming his mouth from the slack one under him and onto jaw and neck, Prowl continued to nuzzle lightly at the exposed wires, nipping and licking at the circuitry.

Prowl growled again as the body beneath him shuddered in response. Jazz muted his vocal processors to hold back the moan, staring wide eyed at the second in command that was currently mouthing his neck components. What the slag? He had come in here to help him get some rations, not to help him get off! With another nip at his neck that caused his vocal processors to screech with the effort of continuing to obey his commanded muting, however, Jazz came to the decision that hey, if Prowl wanted help with the second far be it for him to refuse. It wasn't like it had to mean anything—

Apparently deciding that Jazz was now thinking far too much and not doing far enough, Prowl rolled off him and reached out a hand and grasped Jazz's arm in a rough parody of the previous situation, dragging him from the floor into his adjacent quarters and onto the recharge berth. Landing on his side as Prowl slipped in next to him, Jazz decided that he really _had_ been thinking far too much and they could just figure it all out after.

Reaching a hand out to tempting doorwings and running a finger lightly down the inside of one to the seam where the two appendages met, Jazz surged into Prowl's mouth—passive role be damned, Prowl's not the only one who knew a thing or two. Gasping at the sudden sensory information, Prowl's optics shuttered and his whole frame vibrated.

Jazz grinned and brushed his hand against the doorwings again, drawing a straight invisible line from tip to tip, loving the tremors it created in the bot next to him.

"Jazz…" Prowl wined, and Jazz froze cold. He had never heard that tone from the tactician before. So needy and vulnerable. It made him so…so—something. Jazz's spark ached.

And suddenly Jazz wanted this to mean something.

"Prowlie…" Jazz breathed and disentangled one hand from doorwings to run it lightly down the tactician's face, smoothing over cheek and jaw and feathering over lips. Whimpering slightly, Prowl brought both hands up, cupping Jazz's cheeks before fingering the switch that would retract Jazz's visor. Moving his hand to cup the back of Prowl's trembling ones, Jazz helped him nudge open the switch and with a slight whisper of air Jazz's face was revealed completely.

Glancing optic to optic for the first time, Jazz spared a moment of confused puzzlement. The removal of his visor had once again directed his attention to Prowl's optics and how they seemed a bit…dulled. He only had a second to even consider the notion before lips were once again devouring his and hands refused to remain idle, as sneaky and slithering digits slipped down his chassis and found the cracks where his armor plating met to lightly stroke sensitive bundles of wire.

Moaning unabashedly, Jazz closed his eyes and just enjoyed the sensation. Dragging his own fingers down and then back up doorwings, he earned himself an answering groan. Smirking to himself, Jazz slipped his fingers into the seam where the doorwings met the edge of Prowl's armor plating and caressed the special bundle of wires where the information nets of both wings met before being routed to Prowl's CPU.

Crying out uncontrollably, the tactician shuddered and tossed in Jazz's grip, unable to control his movements as Jazz ruthlessly attacked the bundle of wires, sending light electrical impulses into the node. With shaking arms, Prowl brought a hand up to Jazz's neck and meshed it into the exposed wiring. Jazz felt the invasion and his optics widened. Frag, he couldn't possibly know how sensitive his vocal processors were—

Jazz screamed out himself as he found out that, yes, Prowl seemed to know exactly how sensitive they were as he stroked and rubbed the wires and sensitive control boards that made up his vocal system. He started to send small electrical shocks of his own and Jazz faltered for a second in his own pulses. It was all the time Prowl needed to gain some semblance of control over himself and he reached behind Jazz with his unoccupied hand, using his leverage to pull the unresisting mech closer against him until with the screech of metal on metal the fronts of their frames were flush against each other.

Jazz, with the small part of his CPU that wasn't involved with the flashing warnings of overheating and that wasn't at the mercy of the fingers imbedded in his throat, noted how well they fit together. All angles and lines, he figured that their frames would have been uncomfortable this close, but the only feeling he got from this closeness was…comfort. Contentment.

Though the sound of both their internal fans was overwhelmingly loud in the stillness of the room, Jazz could still hear the breathy voice that was whispered over his audios, "Jazz…please."

Contentment. For a mech who constantly dealt with lies and deceit, contentment—complete and utter _giving_ with no ulterior motives—was something that Jazz had thought he wouldn't ever get the chance to experience. Gasping at the overwhelming emotion that accompanied another electrical burst from fingertips, Jazz could only mumble with more air than actual tone, "Whatever you need, Prowlie."

Prowl gasped in response and continued to send pulses that steadily increased in intensity. Pushing off his own overload, Jazz grabbed onto the bundle of wires that his hand was still loosely clenched around and began to send his own electrical signals as well. Arching into the touch, Prowl moaned and twisted, nevertheless keeping a strong hold on his own pulses.

Jazz's spark pulsed with emotional and physical pleasure as each burst of electricity was followed by an echoing reminder of Prowl's request, its glow strengthening as it began to swell with want. Unable to hold back the sudden imminent and harsh need emanating from his pounding spark, Jazz choked back a cry as it thrust itself towards the mech before him as if trying to get through both their casings and frames and merge with Prowl's of its own volition. An answering cry assured him that his spark wasn't the only one with thoughts of escaping.

Gasping, his intakes raging to take in more air to cool his severely overheated systems, Jazz tipped his head down to rest it against Prowl's own panting face. Brushing lax lips just under Prowl's left optic, Jazz sent one last blast of energy from his fingers before Prowl arched almost painfully towards him and screamed out as his systems overloaded. Jazz's spark, connected to the other only through where their frames touched, still felt the overflow as Prowl slipped into coursing waves of pleasure, the flood of electricity zigzagging back to Jazz a complementary signal just as Prowl sent his last conscious burst of electricity into Jazz's neck.

Scream frozen in his throat as his system overloaded from the combined stimulus, Jazz stayed online long enough to see Prowl's form slump over onto his shoulder before his CPU crashed down and his optics off-lined, leaving him in the comfortable safety of recharge, holding and being held without a single unpleasant thought for the following morning.

* * *

Right. This chapter kind of felt like an "eh" chapter to me, which kind of makes me sad because I _heart_ this couple so bad. Please feel free to tell me what you think in a review (Yes? Yes? Yes?) and next chapter actually has some _plot_ development (like two sentences, really) and BeeSam once again! Yay!


	5. Satan's Camaro

One day I was walking along the pleasantly sunny sidewalk when BAM! The monstrous abhorred thing commonly called _school_ slammed into me like the mother of all semi-trucks. And that, my friends, is the only reason that I can give for the current sad state of updates for this story.

And so far my responses to your reviews have suffered as well and I...suck. Because I should have done _that_ instead of giving into the other random little points of time consuming crap that seem to have just piled up while I wasn't looking but really could have waited.

So double the thanks to you for sticking with me even though the time between updates is steadily getting ridiculous. My apologies and I'll try to get my school work done _without_ procrastinating so that I can focus a bit more on this...le sigh. Many thanks also to .groove and ryagelle who helped with my residual spelling mistakes in the last chapter.

Once again mass props to my beta-reader who is the holy light of all_awesomeness_ and who helped me out with the butt-load of inconsistencies that I had in this fic. Really, I had random things that didn't fit and she was kind enough to fix those up until they did and I shamelessly stole a bit of her suggestions for a line of Bee's dialogue. So huge heaps of thanks to Kesera for her continued patience.

**Edit: Thanks to .groove and Kesera the italics problem has been fixed. Thank you!**

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A honk and a yelled exclamation of, "Watch your ass!" jarred Bumblebee back into awareness and his breaks hitched and squealed as he skidded back to his side of the double yellow lines that graced the road underneath him. He had been zoning out since this morning, but this was getting ridiculous. He better get it under control before he made it back to Sam.

Sam.

Bee's engine rumbled and he clicked himself into a higher gear as he threw on the throttle. He roared past the truck and station wagon ahead of him before taking the first off ramp at a decidedly less than safe speed, edging onto the side street and narrowly missing another collision.

Bee winced as the blue Volkswagen swerved and honked as he roared past and through the, in his defense, almost red light. He…was anxious to see Sam. On the way to Tranquility he had sensed a slight disturbance on his radar and he had to leave Sam at his house to check it out, but even those few minutes seemed to be far too long for Bumblebee. He and Sam hadn't had a chance to get together and just talk for the longest of times and for their night to be interrupted by something as trivial as a _possible_Deception signal that turned out to be absolutely nothing was a little irritating.

Swerving left onto the Witwicky's home street, Bee left another few honking horns in his wake and he flashed his taillights in apology before rounding the corner and closing in on his destination. Roaring to a stop, he pulled lightly into the driveway and gave a small honk.

Throwing his radio dial on, Bee pumped up the volume and blasted, "_Now won't you come out and play! Come out and play! Come on out and play!_"

Bee watched in amusement as Sam tore out of the house, hands flapping in wild shushing motions, "Bee! Turn the volume down! My neighbors are going to want to know why my very un-sentient car suddenly started _playing music by itself_!"

Doing as asked, Bee lowered the volume and sniggered out his intakes, prompting a very annoyed look from the young boy before him. Rolling his eyes, Sam shouted goodbye to his parents through the screen door and walked over to Bee's front door.

"You are such a handful, you know that?" Sam muttered, opening the door and climbing in. He had become so adept at ignoring the small shocks that had been steadily plaguing him throughout the day that he hardly noticed the static electricity that coursed from his palm and into Bee's door. Throughout the whole trip from the Ark to Tranquility everywhere Sam touched he'd get a stab of electrical current and the constant exposure had dampened his notice of such instances a bit.

He wasn't able to quite as easily ignore what happened next. Or, rather, what didn't happen. Officially confused, Sam could only crease his brow in the afore mentioned emotion as Bee, instead of immediately starting and rolling out as per usual, stood shock still and didn't move an inch, "Bee?" Sam questioned, "Are you okay?"

When he still didn't receive a response, Sam placed both hands on the steering wheel and gave it a slight pat, "You're not mad about the whole 'handful' comment, are you? Because you know you're totally worth it, right?"

At the pat and the words, Bee shuddered back to life, vibrating on his axels before settling down and very slowly reversing out of the driveway. Sam, unused to the oppressive silence, left his hands on the steering wheel and continued to throw uneasy glances at the interior of the car, wondering what was up with his guardian.

Bee…felt strange. His alt-mode seemed almost too tight, like he was stretching and growing within an uncomfortable plastic shell that pinched and tingled. His frame was itchy, like he had gotten sand all throughout his gears, and it was only Sam's confused pat and concern that managed to shock him back into himself. Unsettled, he veered slowly back onto the road.

What was wrong with him? He'd been blacking out for a while now—he had constantly gone adrift during the trip from the desert base to Sam's house and now it was starting up again. It was like every time he was with Sam today his CPU just went blank, almost like it was floating independently from the rest of his body, and was filtering through slides of white nothing that he couldn't focus on. He should talk to Ratchet about it the next time he saw the medic. Sam's touch, however, was like a sharp arch of energy that always managed to break him out of his musings and clear his processors. The connection was striking, it had an almost electrical feel—which was silly because Sam was a being of flesh and heartbeats, not circuitry and voltages.

Continuing down the country road that he had turned onto, Bee suddenly registered the looks Sam was shooting his interior as well as the death grip Sam had on his steering wheel and realized that he had been silent for far too long.

Gently tuning on his radio, Bee kept the volume at tolerable levels, "_Where is my mind? Where is my mind?_" He fizzed out to another channel, "_Don't you worry about a thing…_" another fizz, Bee so loved the radio's songs. They said everything for him and they did it all with a tune! "_I was thinking, over thinking._"

Sam was at first startled by the abrupt noise, but nevertheless let Bumblebee finish his montage of songs. After he was done, he smiled a bit and once again patted the wheel before him, absentmindedly noting that the tingle in his hand was growing stronger but was still weak enough that he still managed to shrug it off, "Just thinking, eh? What about? It seemed like something serious. Anything I can help with?"

"_No worries, no worries. Say it for me, say it for me…_"

"Right, just wondering." Sam stretched out in the front seat, sliding down and leaning back to rest his head on pillowed hands, picking up the strand of conversation from that morning, "So, now that we've done our physiological and meaning-defining thinking for the day, where are we headed?"

"_And what else is there, roads getting nearer, we cover distance…_"

Sam brought his head up enough to stare at an upcoming sign and read, "Lookout, 2.5 miles." He rolled his eyes, like he had needed to ask. Whenever they wrangled any time to spend alone, they always went to the lookout to talk. Sam loved it—he had been missing his best friend who had been so caught up with fixing up the Ark and he longed for the relative secluded area where they could just hang out and catch up. It was where the whole "completely different species" thing just didn't seem to matter much anymore.

Curling further into the front seat, Sam stared out the window and did his level best not to doze off. He had stayed up late the night before doing a huge science project that he had barely managed to finish and e-mail to his professor before the morning deadline and he hadn't gotten in a nap all day. Ratchet's doctoring had taken up most of the morning and he was majorly wiped. He couldn't completely manage to stop a yawn as Bee rolled into the lookout.

Reaching for the door handle to get out so that Bee could transform, Sam felt the belt buckle (which had until then remained slack at the seat's side) curl around him and tug him back to the leather while the doors clicked to lock. Sam was awake instantly, any lingering drowsiness gone with the sharp current emanating from the nylon crisscrossing his torso, "Bee?"

"If it's all right with you, Sam," Bee said, speaking for the first time the whole night, "I would prefer to remain like this for now."

"That's fine. But you don't want to, I dunno, stretch or something?" Sam asked, tugging at the belt absentmindedly.

"I'll be fine."

Sam shrugged, "Okay, whatever you say, Bee." Relaxing back into the seat Sam stretched again, his arms reaching up and across Bee's roof, dragging his hands through the material as he loudly cracked his back before huddling back into the seat.

Bee shook on his axles at the touch. Sam was instantly worried again at the motion, Bee had been acting weird ever since he had driven him home this morning from the Ark. What if he had some weird alien disease or something? And what if he had given it to him with all this damn static electricity? His thoughts only serving to fuel his worry, Sam anxiously spoke, "Maybe we should go see Ratchet or something, Bee. You keep blanking out and acting…weird."

"No!" Be shouted back instantly.

Sam, startled, lurched back a bit in shock. He'd never heard Bee yell before and it was the icing on the cake of Something Is Not Right and he was determined to find out what it was so he could _help_ his best friend with it. "Bee, tell me what's up!" Resolute, Sam laid his hands on the gear shift and the dashboard, attempting to make sure Bee was paying attention.

The minute his hands came into contact, Bee's frame shuddered again and the Camaro's engine rumbled slightly. "Bee?" Sam asked, his hand around the gearshift clenching in agitation and surprise.

"It's…it's just that," Sam was batting for a thousand, it seemed. Not only had Bee actually _yelled_ today but it seemed that he could stutter as well, "whenever you touch me, my CPU goes blank and my processors get all muggy and it feels like…like electricity."

Sam reeled and immediately withdrew his hands from where they were resting, bringing them into his lap and doing everything but floating in an attempt to not touch anything, "I'm sorry! I didn't know!" he stuttered out, blushing.

"What? I don't understand, why are you sorry? Were you doing something?" Bee asked hesitantly. He hadn't thought Sam was capable of sending electric pulses without having his own spark, but maybe…

"No! Well, nothing on purpose!" Sam exclaimed and Bee let the distant hope die without much regret.

"Then why are you sorry?" Bee asked questioningly.

"Well, what you describe sounds like…uh, like I'm causing you some sort of…," Sam stammered, his blush deepening and his voice drawing into a whisper, "sexual pleasure or something."

"Sexual…pleasure?" Bee echoed out loud without the least bit of an attempt to lower his voice. After doing a quick internet search Bee was fairly confident that he understood what Sam was saying, "Yes…I suppose that is the equivalent in human terms. But Autobots don't feel very well when we're in our alt-modes."

Sam, despite the subject matter, was still drawn in instantly to the explanation. He loved hearing about how Cybertronians worked and he took every opportunity to hear about it. Even though half the time he didn't understand the technical mumbo-jumbo, he figured if he listened hard enough _something_had to sink in. It was the reason that he and Wheeljack got along so well. Stamping down on his ferociously out of control blush, he cleared his throat and managed to dredge up enough courage to ask, "Do you feel when you're not in your alt-modes, then?"

"Yes, our tactile senses are superior in our bipedal modes." Sam, for all the world, couldn't understand why he suddenly felt the need to test this theory. With Bee.

A lot.

Shaking his head and attempting to pretend that the previous thought had never existed, he smoothed his hand across his shirt, shaking it loose as the crackling static made everything clingy. Licking his suddenly dry lips, he attempted to focus instead back on the conversation, "Why could you feel my…touches, then?" Sam asked, struggling and stumbling over the right word to call what he had done.

"I am unsure. Usually we can only lightly feel electrical pulses while in alt-mode, something that is caused by another's spark's energy." Bee said gently, "So I don't know why I can suddenly feel you. You're not harboring some kind of hidden battery, are you?"

Chuckling a bit at the weak attempt at humor, Sam rolled his eyes and relaxed marginally back into the seat though his hands remained firmly in his lap, "No—not the last time I checked anyway."

"Then I suppose it'll remain a mystery." Bee replied as he settled a bit, the car rocking with his movements. Sam, jostled by the unexpected movement, threw out his hands to keep his balance, one landing on the car door to his left and the other on the ever present gearshift.

Seemingly not noticing the new perches of his human's appendages, Bee remained silent in contemplation as he stared at the sky and simply enjoyed the camaraderie. Sam, however, was only all too aware of his hands' new resting places. The thought from before came back to him and he lightly stroked the gearshift, vaguely wondering what, if anything, Bee might feel. When his action brought no response from the car underneath him, he stroked again, this time with the intention of making Bee actually feel _something_.

Caught completely off guard, Bee's engine rumbled and his frame slid down and vibrated at the motion.

"Sa-Sam?" Bee stumbled, Sam noticed, for the second time in one day. Completely entranced by what his hands were doing and no longer paying any attention to what his mind was saying about _consequences_ he stroked his hand up again and watched as light flashes of electricity followed in its wake. What was that?

"Sam!" Bee shouted and his frame shook again.

As if a bolt of lightning had shot straight through his clouded mind to blindingly flash the truth at him in bright red letters, Sam came to a realization. Static electricity flew around him in waves but he hardly noticed in his need to vocalize his sudden and almost violent epiphany, "I…think I want this, Bee."

And then it was gone. Wrenching his hands away from everything, Sam clenched his head in a tight grip.

What the _hell_ did he think he was doing?

"_What did you say, I know I saw you saying it…_" Great, Sam mumbled to himself, Bee was back to using the radio. What the hell was _wrong_ with him? First Bee was acting weird and now his head was all messed up and it had him admitting to things that were meant for black nights and whimsical forgotten thoughts, not the light of day nor to be said to his best friend. His best _robotic_friend.

Maybe it was just hormones.

Sam snorted. No way was he that lucky. Sighing, Sam struggled into more of a ball so that the least amount of himself as possible was touching Bee's seat. The admission was wrong, to be sure, but now that it had happened, it wasn't like he could just take it back.

"Nothing. I didn't say anything." But far be it for him not to at least _try_. He'd deny, deny, deny and maybe just this _one time_ he could get lucky.

"_And whoever you think you see, don't lie to me, don't lie to me._" Sam could practically _feel_ the raised eyebrow that went with that song. Shrugging his shoulders, Sam continued to feign obliviousness, though it was starting to hint more of desperation then anything. He had to get out and he had to think, damn it, before he did something else stupid. He had to sort himself out.

"_It's mutual or so it seems, cause only in the real world do things happen like they do in my dreams…_" Still not too far gone in his inner musings to miss the song thrown out of the speaker, Sam's heart quickened and his pulse thrummed in his head. He had to have misheard that.

"I…don't think I follow. Bee, what are you saying?"

"_Beautiful one I love you. Beautiful one I adore you. Beautiful one my soul must sing…_"

"Oh God." Sam shuddered at the admission and suddenly it was all too much. He had just come to his own insane epiphany, there was no way he could handle this right now. He reached for the belt, fumbling for the unlock latch to make a mad break for it out of the car, but it remained stubbornly closed, "Bee…Stop, stop this. I can't…this isn't right." Sam growled in frustration and with just a hint of panic and of an oncoming mental break. He continued to struggle with the belt that refused to unlatch, knotting his fingers into the nylon and pulling with a new desperation.

"_We could be lovers, just for one day._" Crooned the radio, apparently growing in confidence every moment as the reality of his absurd admission continued to sink in.

"Bee—stop it! Let me out, let me out, let me out!" Sam screamed, his eyes stinging but he was desperate to do anything but cry, desperate to do anything to get away, desperate to just leave, desperate to just _get out_.

"_I believe in a thing called love, just listen to the rhythm of my heart._" Bee's engine revved in agreement.

"Bee…" Sam cried, tears leaking out despite his clenched eyelids as his hands fell slack and loose, sliding off the seatbelt and onto his lap and then onto Bee's seat cushion before resting there softly. He couldn't…he couldn't _deal_ with all this right now. Sam clenched a fist against the soft leather and hung his head down. He just need to_think_, to figure out where all these thoughts came from and how the tight mental box he had kept them in had found a way to break open and funnel them out into his frontal psyche and force him into blurting out the most _insane_things at all the wrong moments.

"Sam. I know what I feel, and I know what you feel, but I still don't know what this thing is between us exactly. I've been running my processors trying to compute the answer and the closest thing I could find would be…love? But one word? It doesn't seem like it could really mean all of these conflicted feelings."

Sam's head feel back against the headrest and he breathed slowly and deeply, trying to get back some semblance of calm. Love? When had…where had that come from? "I know what you mean," he finally said, quietly and with no little hesitance. There was no use lying to himself anymore and—if he was going to be truthful (which he hated to be in times like these)—then he might as well go with it, "Every time I'm here, with you, my chest feels like it's expanding until there isn't any possible way that I just won't explode. But that doesn't matter Bee, it doesn't because it _can't_. This wasn't supposed to happen and it shouldn't happen. We can't…we can't do _this_. You just caught me at a bad time, okay? So just let me out and we can forget—"

"_Why you wanna be like that as if there's nothing new. You're not fooling no one, you're not even fooling you._"

"Oh God Bee," Sam said with a half-sob half-gasping laugh, nervousness creeping back despite his continued deep breathing. His mom's yoga tapes friggin _lied_ about that breathing crap, "Hilary Duff is not the way to convince me. Just…please, let me out. At least…I just need to think, okay?"

Though Bee's radio remained silent, Sam's belt finally unbuckled and the previously locked door popped open. All but propelling himself onto the gravel that covered the lookout point where he and Bee had stopped, Sam stumbled out from the car with a gasp.

The first thing he noticed was that it was a little colder out in the open than it had been inside. Despite the cold Sam still staggered away from Bee, getting some distance. He didn't know what was happening with him anymore. Just when he thought he had gotten a handle on all his emotions after his whole "angsty" teenage years, his body had to go and throw this gigantic curve ball at him. He rubbed his chest without a clear thought of doing so, trying to soothe the burning that just got worse with every step he took away from his car.

"_Tried to walk away and I stumble. Though I try to hide it, it's clear. My whole world crumbles when you are not near._" Bee closed his door with a small click, rolling into drive to keep up with Sam, giving him everything but the space he had been attempting to obtain a second ago.

"_She fuckin hates me. Sha la la la…_"

"Bee! That's not fair! I don't hate you, I just need to…need to…gah! I can't think when you're this close." Sam, hands tangled in his hair, screamed as he strode away from his stalking Camaro.

"_What is there to say? And how will I pull through? I knew in a moment contentment and home meant just you._"

Sam, pausing, laughed, "That's sweet," He ran a quick hand through his hair before abruptly turning on his heel to face his slowly following car. Decided, he threw caution to the wind and just figured he had to get everything out and then he could make better informed decisions. Right? "Look, Bee, you know how I feel and I can make an educated guess at how you feel—"

"_And I will always love you!_"

Sam chuckled and, despite his previous mantra, it still had an edge of anxiety to it, "Yes. Thank you," Sam's smile slowly slipped, "But still…Bee, think about it. I'm a human. You're an autobot. It's impossible…it's just, just…"

"_And because these daft and dewy eyed dopes keep building up impossible hopes. Impossible things are happening every day!_"

"Cute. Because quoting Cinderella is _so_ going to make this better."

"_Oh, oh Fantasy World and Disney Girls I'm coming back._"

Sam just shook his head, "This won't work Bumblebee. It won't because it _can't_. That's all there is to it."

"_Why'd you have to go and make things so complicated?_" Bee's engine revved again and Sam felt his front bumper lightly tap his legs. Sam snorted ruefully before giving into the soft insistence and leaned against Bee's hood. What was _with_ today?

"Me? Make this complicated? I believe_you're_the one who decided that this needed to be talked about. I was doing just fine floating down that river in Egypt, thank you very much."

"Sam," said boy was startled to hear Bee's actual voice issue from the stereo instead of some song, "I really do love you."

Sam would have fallen over if he hadn't been leaning against something. Bee had all but admitted it a second ago in song, but to just come out and _say_ it. And in his own _voice_, for crying out loud, "Wh-what?"

"That's what you say, correct?" Bee asked, "I mean, I cross searched my symptoms and that's what I came up with. All I can think about is you. All I need to be happy is you. All I want is you. I can't stand it when we're apart and I wish that we never had to be. I feel…complete when I'm with you, like I've been a blissfully oblivious half of something that was only made aware of its state of incompleteness when I ran it my other half. You, Sam. But it's such a small word and I…can't really see how it can convey all that I feel, but…I do love you, Sam." And then, as if the addition would increase the magnitude of the situation, "A lot."

Sam's head landed in his hands but even then his tears still managed to leak through and drip down onto Bumblebee's hood, the moonlight hitting them silver before fading into Bee's still brand new paint job.

Wrenching his hands from his face and throwing his head back Sam yelled hoarsely before locking his eyes on the car before him, "God damn it, Bee! This isn't supposed to…we're not supposed too, _damn it_...Bee…" Sam's shoulders deflated and his whole body seemed to cave into itself. He felt a brief flicker of _something_in his chest—a light tickling that scratched against his insides and made his head drift for a moment. After a second, Bee revved his engine once more and Sam shook himself out of the fog before pushing himself off Bee's hood and facing the headlights of his guardian.

"Damn you, Bee. You couldn't just pretend it didn't exist, could you? We were great friends, great partners…but now, now we're just...just…just in love." Sam's whole posture drooped as if he was finally surrendering to something and the light tickle grew to envelop his whole body with a sense of weightlessness. Suddenly feeling as if he would float up to the sky without some sort of anchor, he pulled himself onto Bee's hood and curled around himself, pulling his jacket tighter against the now uncomfortable chill and hugged his knees to his chest, cuddling into Bee as much as he could.

"_I've seen your flag on the marble arch, love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah…_"

"You're telling me." Sam mumbled into the cool paint below him. Paint that was slowly getting warmer, however, as Bee attempted to heat himself up and make his human more comfortable. "Stop that," Sam said with an exasperated swat at the car below him, "That takes too much energy. I'll just get in again."

Bee honked lightly in agreement and swiftly opened his driver side door, his windshield wipers sweeping against his front window with in an almost tail-like wag.

Sam rolled his eyes and crawled off his perch slowly, the sense of lightness still present. Jumping lightly to the ground, he rubbed a hand against his heart and was surprised when it clung to his T-shirt with static electricity. Shaking his hand off his shirt he shrugged it off and made a mental note to make sure that those dryer sheets made it in next time he did laundry and slowly shifted back into Bee's front seat. As the door closed behind him, he glanced nervously at the gearshift and seatbelt before warily laying his hands on the steering wheel, very much conscious of what Bee had said before about touch and the reaction he had elicited in the autobot before.

"I don't know if this is going to work Bee…but I guess we'll find out, huh?"

"_You are the one. You'll never be alone again; you're more than in my head, you're more…_"

"Thanks, Bee."

"Don't worry, Sam, everything will be okay as long as we stick together."

"Good," Sam smiled, "I…I wouldn't have it any other way."

A few minutes passed in silence and Sam's slowly drooping head was all but broadcasting to Bee that the stress had finally gotten to his human and that they should head back to the Witwicky house before Sam's parents began to worry. Bee started his engine and slowly slid into drive and all but tiptoed over the gravel until his wheels hit the relatively smooth expanse of paved road and he relaxed back onto his axels. He had only driven a short way when Sam's head flew up from its position against the window, his human's eyes fogy and unfocused.

"Bee?" Sam asked sleepily, blinking with a small yawn. And though Bee had no reference for it, he was sure that this was what everyone meant when they said, "cute."

"Yes, Sam?"

"Thank you. For forcing me to not ignore it." Sam was still not really awake and his words were slurred and ran together. He let loose another yawn and Bee's engine purred at the cuteness, "I…" another yawn, "I love you a lot, too, you know?" And then he was back asleep, one had curled behind him over the headrest while the other was thrown protectively on Bee's gear shift. With a slight surge of power, Bee morphed his seat into something more soft, cradling his human's head against the headrest and making it as comfortable as he could.

And though he was sure that he had imagined it, he could have sworn that Sam had shot back a brief surge of power through the hand on his gear shift in reply. Bee ignored it and filed it away under more wishful thinking. Sam would need a spark for that. Still, all interspecies complications aside, Bee figured that this had been a very good day.

"I know Sam, I know."

* * *

There was a _little_ plot development! Really! Those two lines are in there somewhere...And finally we've got all the blasted couples down. Yay! Time for some more plot in the next chapter. I'm (sadly) not going to show how the autobot couples woke up with each other, but I was thinking about uploading it as a side story, an idea that was helpfully given to me by EasterOfFlesh. So it wouldn't be a chapter in this story, but I would still be willing to upload them (once they're written, that is) as another story if you guys really wanted to see them.

And if anyone's _desperately_ curious about any of Bee's songs I can list them for you, but I used a new one for about every line so I'm gonna skip it for right now.

Thanks again for everything and the continued support. Please feel free to review and let me know what you think so far!


	6. Jack in the Closet

Hello again!

It's been a while, huh? Uhh...in my defense, finals week is next week. But then it's spring break! Which will give me the time I need to catch up on this thing. It feels like I've created a monster. And just in case I haven't given a disclaimer yet (umm...have I? I don't know. I should check that...) I don't own Transformers. If I did, I would have _never_ let Michael Bay direct the movie.

Another round of thanks goes to .groove and Kesera who were kind enough to point out the blasted and dreaded _italics_ problem in the last chapter.

Though I don't think I'll ever be able to thank her enough, another giant helping of ultimate glory of thanks once again goes to Kesera who not only took the time to beta-read my story, but she took the time out of her weekend _off_ to do so. That was unimaginably nice of her and she deserves a thousand more accolades then I could ever hope to provide. I didn't even know Web MD actually _existed_ before she pointed it out.

Here's chapter six! And I can officially say that this is the longest thing I've ever posted. Phew. Hope you enjoy!

**Edit: Much thanks to the ever wonderful Daebereth and .groove who were kind enough to point out some of my (grrrr...) spelling mistakes that just REFUSE to not exist.**

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* * *

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There was something extremely peculiar happening. It probably had something to do with his dad pounding rather loudly on the window, but Sam thought it also might have had something to do with his curiosity _over_his father.

Which was odd, because he really shouldn't be curious about his father, he knew what his father was. He was his father. But—still there was this tickling in the back of his head that whispered of…puzzlement. Groggily sitting up from his position half sprawled over the center console and passenger seat, Sam rubbed his eyes and blinked slowly at his steadily tapping father, the fuzzy questionings fading slowly into the back of his blearily reawakening mind.

His father, noticing his movement, made a rolling motion with his hand and pointed down at the window. Squinting his eyes as he attempted to make sense of the cryptic hand language, Sam just continued to blink slowly at his father through the glass. Ron Witwicky just rolled his eyes at his son's almost ritualized morning antics. The boy had _never_ really been a morning person. After a few seconds, coherency reared its head and Sam bit back another yawn and rolled down the window.

"Dad?" Sam asked scratchily, wincing into the sun that framed his father.

"Well, who else would it be?" His father asked snarkily, leaning on the rolled down window and slightly into the car, "I know you've got these…things to protect you and all, son, but your mother and I_still_ have you under a curfew, you know?"

Sam took a moment to give his father a 'wa?' look before understanding rushed in upon the heels of coherency and he stammered out his apology, "Oh! Dad! I am _so_ sorry, it was just that Bee and I lost track of the time! We were talking and—" Sam stopped, mouth gaping and eyes fixed on a point above his father's shoulder as he realized the implications of his words.

Realized just _what_ he and his guardian had talked about, exactly.

Damn it.

"Yes? 'And' what?" His father prompted, tapping his fingers absentmindedly on the window pane. Before he abruptly remembered that the car could probably feel him doing that. Unwilling to accidentally cause undue discomfort to the 16 foot tall guardian disguised as a car, Ron immediately stopped his tapping and hesitantly and cautiously removed himself from leaning against the window, the whole while keeping an eye out for any sudden hostile robotic movements.

Closing his mouth a few more times before any sound could make it past his suddenly dry as desert throat, Sam just replied with a quick, "No-Nothing, Dad."

"Right. Sure, I'll believe that." Ron said with a raised eyebrow.

"Really?"

"No."

"Oh." Sam said disconsolately, slumping back into the seat as his dad went into a lecture about being punctual, especially for curfews. He cast a glance at the dashboard, still having trouble believing what had happened last night. Could he have really…admitted that stuff to Bee? And Bee _returned _that…feeling? Was there something in the _water_ that made them go completely crazy or _what_?

Sam spent about a second longer mulling over the thought that, really, Bee didn't actually drink water, so that was essentially out of the question, before shaking himself out of his internal tangent and interrupting his dad's rambling speech, "Um, Dad?"

"—like that one time in 1987 when your mother and I accidentally went to that 'special' beach in Europe because—"

"Dad!" Sam insisted, throwing his hands up and covering his ears. He had been scarred for _life_ the first time his parents had told him that…beach story. If there were ever two things he never wanted connected in his mind they were "parents" and "nude beach."

"What?" Ron, noticing his only child's shudder of suppressed repulsion, rolled his eyes. Honestly, he could be more embarrassing if he wanted to. Sam should consider himself lucky, really.

"I've got to go back, okay? There's a few things I…need to check out." Bumblebee, who had until that time remained completely silent and still, revved his engine in agreement. Something was _so_ not right and the weird static and the confessions and the everything in between and it needed to be figured out and sorted through just as soon as Sam could wheedle his way back onto the street and on his way to the Ark. Surely Ratchet would be able to help him with all this mess.

"Go back? Again? To that Ark place? Why?" Ron was confused, Sam had spent most of yesterday at that place, and more importantly—"What about school? It's only Wednesday! You can't miss school just because—"

"Come on dad, it's uber-suber-duper-really-really-important!" Sam whined, hands back to griping the wheel before him in an agitated need to get going. Bee's engine clicked on and he shifted into reverse, though he remained stationary in the Witwicky's driveway.

"Sam…" Ron warned slowly. Absolutely no way was he letting him miss school again!

"Dad…" Sam whimpered back, pulling out the puppy-dog eyes.

It was then that Ron Witwicky realized he had been a part of raising a completely manipulative and scheming little con-artist of a brat-child that would have his way or the highway. Or, in this case, both, "…fine."

"Yes! Thanks dad, it really is important—" Sam said in a rush, Bee already backing them down the driveway and out onto the street.

"Yes, yes. Look, if your mother asks, you got some horrible, ah, alien robot disease, okay? And you had to knock me out to get by me because I _still_ insisted you go to school, okay? Now get." Ron said with a sigh, watching as Sam did just that, his sleek Camaro masterfully easing itself and the boy out of the driveway and into the street. It was the ease with which the car performed the maneuver that convinced Ron that Sam was not the one currently in control of the driving. He had been in the car when his son learned how to drive and while, in all fairness, it _had_ been about two years since then, his son still wasn't what he would call a "safe" driver.

Sighing again before rolling his eyes as the car honked once before speeding off and away, Ron made his way back into the house, debating on how to handle telling his wife that he had basically given their son permission to skip school. Again.

* * *

Rolling out the driveway and throwing one more glance his dad's way, Sam had a heart-wrenching moment where he considered just how true his dad's words of "alien robot disease" might actually turn out to be.

"…Sam?" the question sounded out through the radio's speakers and Sam put it down to the absolute oddity of the situation that Bee was speaking to him with his voice rather than just using the radio's music.

"Yes, Bee?" He replied tiredly, rubbing his eyes and dislodging a bit of eye crust that was still left over. Sam made a face before rubbing it out on his shirt.

Huh. No static electricity.

Before he could fully take in the fact that, while yesterday he had seemed to be the focal point for all the static electricity in the _universe_ he now seemed to not have a single negatively charged atom on the whole of his fabric person, Bee continued to speak.

"Are you…alright?" was the hesitant question. Sam could have smacked himself over the head, if _he_ was feeling confused about the whole admitted feelings thing last night then surely Bee would have a few questions about it, too.

"I'm fine, Bee! No worries." Sam said as reassuringly as he could, patting the steering wheel lightly and doing his level best to _not_ put any electricity into it.

"Oh. I was just…last night, we, ah, well…some things were said, and—" Bee said slowly, his processor stumbling as it attempted to provide him with the words he needed.

"And I meant them, Bee." Sam said, defiant. He let his hands caress the edge of the steering wheel lightly in added reassurance.

"You…did?" Bee asked incredulously. He had thought Sam would think their actions reprehensible and attempt to go back on them today. He had onlined sometime before Sam's father had awakened his charge and he was overwhelmingly surprised and a bit nervous about the night before. He…hadn't meant to say the things that he had, and now he was beyond relieved that he wouldn't have to apologize for it. The feelings he had expressed _were_ true.

Even with all the universal odds stacked against them, it still seemed that the Autobot couldn't help somehow falling head over heels for this young human.

"'Course I did, Bee." Sam said softly to Bumblebee's earlier question, "I didn't expect to tell you, mind you, but…yeah. I meant it. Mean it."

"Good." Bee said, his engine rumbling in agreement.

Sam laughed, "Yes, definitely good."

The rest of the car-ride back to the Ark was in companionable silence, broken only by the occasional song Bee picked up and played over the radio. Sam was hard pressed to hide his smile as he couldn't help but notice that most, if not all, the chosen melodies were love songs.

Upon reaching the Ark Sam and Bumblebee were faced with a bit of a predicament: Bee was running low on energy reserves and needed to make a quick trip to an energon dispenser. Uneasy about leaving his human alone, especially after the revelations last night, Bee tried to work it so that Sam would come with him and _then_they could go try and find Ratchet. But the car-ride had only served to give Sam the opportunity to get even more antsy and worried about the mysterious electrical charge that had all but disappeared this morning and so, against the scout's wishes, he and Sam split up with Bumblebee going to the main rec-room for a quick gulp of energon and Sam trying to immediately locate and find Ratchet in the hopes that the medic could help him with his suspicious chest pains and previous affinity for electricity.

After searching the med-bay, a few of the hallways the CMO usually hung around, and even his personal quarters, Sam, however, had all about just given up when he ran into the twins.

Instantly on alert, he asked them about Ratchet. If anyone would know where Ratchet was surely it would be the two terrors that drove the grumpy medic half crazy. To his infinite astonishment, however, the clearly agitated twins responded that Ratchet was hiding from something.

Actually _hiding_.

Sam attempted to wrap his mind around the fact that Ratchet, irritable, ornery old mech extraordinaire, was hiding from _anything_, better yet from the two mechs that he was known to throw a wrench at every once in a while. After failing astoundingly, he figured that if the medic was indisposed (freaking _hiding_), he should try to find someone else to tell of his condition. Just in case it turned out to be something horrible or something.

Still not wanting to bother Optimus who he knew had been busy ever since the Ark had been found, what with having to reorganize his previously unconscious hordes of Autobots, Sam decided that he should try the second in command.

Only to all about be bowled over by a very anxious Jazz as he was coming down the hallway. Sidestepping the huge mech, he just managed to avoid getting squished and his yelp of fright was enough to catch Jazz's audios and make him realize that he almost had a human-pancake on his hands.

"Sam? What's up? Can it wait?" Jazz asked in a rush, visored head constantly ticking towards the end of the hallway and then back down to Sam, clearly wanting to make haste to wherever he was headed.

"Umm…I was just wondering where Prowl was." Sam said with a weary glance up at the mech before him. Out of all the Autobots (excluding Bee, of course) Sam had always considered Jazz to be the least intimidating. His sudden new flighty attitude, however, was placing the human on edge.

"He's missing." Jazz answered with half a mind, "That's all, right? Kay, look, I've got to go find the slag-headed aft-glitch anyway. Let me know if you find him first, yes?" and with a wave that was clearly lacking in its usual energy, Jazz stepped over the human and raced around the turn of the hallway and was gone from sight.

Sam just continued to stare after him in shock. Wait a minute—there was no way that _Prowl_ could possibly be hiding, too. What the hell was up with the Autobots today? First Ratchet and now _Prowl_? It was like Sam had stepped into an alternate universe where grumpy medics who would just as soon throw a wrench at your head as cure you and outstandingly professional and yet amazingly conscientious tacticians just up and, with an absolutely complete turnabout of personality, actually ran away from whatever problems they had found themselves in.

Sam now understood how those people in the Twilight Zone episodes must have felt.

Wide-eyed, Sam shook off his astonishment and went to find the next mech on his list. If the medic and the tactician were busy, surely the engineer could help him?

Making his way to Wheeljack's lab, Sam ran into Sunstreaker and Sideswipe again who were, it seemed, still looking for Ratchet. After telling them that, no, he still hadn't seen him, the twins leapt off into another corridor to, presumably, continue the search. Sam just stared bemusedly after them. Why did they care where Ratchet was? Did they need repairs or something?

He could get Jazz looking for Prowl, those two obviously had a strong friendship going on. When Prowl had awakened and found out about Jazz's almost death by Megatron, he had all but dived down into the ocean himself just to make sure that Megatron really was dead, and if not, then to rectify the mistake with his own two hands and many long, painful measures.

At Jazz's reawakening, however, the two had done one of the _biggest_ almost hug things that Sam had ever seen and it had made him cackle with amusement (much to the bemusement of the other Autobots). He knew that it was a human habit for men to be afraid of hugging each other in emotional situations when in front of other friends, but he didn't know the social stigma also extended to alien robot warrior lieutenants' fear of being too emotional in front of their troops. It was a refreshing take on what he had previously mistook for emotionless machines.

Blushing, Sam recalled his and Bumblebee's confessions the night before once again and decided that he was _greatly_ mistaken about the emotional capacities of the autobots. Rounding the last corner and striding towards the door to the engineer's lab, Sam could distinctly make out what sounded suspiciously like yelling on the other side of the sliding door.

Confused and not a little alarmed, he nevertheless palmed open the door with the specially built human height door-keys that had been placed on most of the doors on the Ark, and stepped slowly inside.

And promptly wondered if he really _was_ in an episode of the Twilight Zone. Wheeljack had never been neat—Sam had a sinking suspicion that if 'Jack ever found himself organized and without any clutter he would go insane—but the state of his lab at the moment could only be attributed to a hurricane. Datapads were strewn everywhere, tables turned over, and even a few sensitive cultures of earth plants that he had been cultivated for study were upturned over the floor, the fauna spilling out in a sludgy, muddy mess.

The most worrying thing in the room, however, was a distressed Bluestreak hollering at a door and apparently trying to convince it to open.

"Blue?" Sam called across the lab, making his way slowly over to the grey gunner.

"What?" Bluestreak, normally an animated and talkative mech, shouted over at the human. Sam, startled by the yell, slipped in some mud and only just managed to catch his balance. Noting the human, Bluestreak made an obvious attempt to soften his features, "Ah, Sam. Sorry…just, I'm a little busy at the moment."

At Blue's quick nod towards the door, Sam raised an eyebrow, "I can see. Why, do tell, are you talking to the door?"

"It's not the door I'm talking to." Bluestreak replied dryly.

Sam was confused. And right now, he was really, really tired of being confused. "Blue, just tell me what's up and where I can find Wheeljack, please?"

Bluestreak snorted and banged on the door harshly, "He's the one I'm talking to. He's holed himself behind the door and_he won't open the bloody thing_!" Bluestreak yelled, banging on the door a second time.

A muffled curse and then a shouted, "Just go away! I…I—go away!"

Yessirie, that sounded like Wheeljack. An overly emotional and stressed out Wheeljack, but him nonetheless. Sam blinked at the whole situation.

"Wait a minute, is he hiding, _too?_ What is with everybody today?" Sam yelled, fed up with all the personality shifts.

"What do you mean, 'too'? Who else is hiding?" Bluestreak asked distractedly, never ceasing his knocking on the door.

"As far as I know Ratchet and Prowl are AWOL. I've been looking for _someone_ because I think _something_ might be wrong with me." Sam replied, squatting down in a somewhat clean spot on the floor to get more comfortable.

Bluestreak paused for a moment in his frantic battering of the door, "Prowl? And Ratchet? Why?"

"The hell if I know. I was hoping someone could tell me." Sam snorted and gave in to his quaking knees, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

"Sorry, I've been stuck here since onlining a little while ago. Trying to get _the sorry aft head_ to _open the fragged door_ and _talk things out like any rational mech_!" Bluestreak shouted, punctuating each phrase with a harder than before slap at the metal barrier between them and Wheeljack's hiding place, "But you can go ahead and tell me what's up and I'll report it to _the bloody sparkling_ once he _grows up_ and _comes out of this glitch of a closet_."

"Thanks." Sam said wryly, "I just need someone's opinion."

"I'm no medic and I certainly ain't a qualified human physician, but I'll do my best." Bluestreak said compassionately, toning down his knocks to hear Sam over the din.

"Yesterday during…some revealing events," Sam blushed but Bluestreak seemed not to notice, "I got this burning pain in my chest."

"Sounds like heartburn." Bluestreak said after a quick search of Web MD.

"No, not that kind of burning pain." Sam admonished, "More like…like electricity, y'know? Like there was this…_ball_ of electrical impulses that was writhing and creating tension and would just all about burst if _something_didn't happen. And it had a beat. Almost like a heartbeat."

Bluestreak said nothing for a while, even his knocks slowing down to almost small pats, "It…sounds like something weird, that's for sure." Another quick internet search gave him nothing on Sam's condition, "If you were Cybertronian, I would say that it sounded like a spark that was about to spark-bond, but that would be impossible. A spark would create way too much electricity for your human body to contain. You're way too flammable; you'd have been burnt to a crisp from the inside out by now."

"A spark?" Sam echoed, forcing his mind not to dwell on the image of his flaming corpse running around screaming for help, "No…that _would_ be impossible. Right?"

"Most definitely." Bluestreak replied, once again starting up his banging with renewed vigor, "But remember that I'm not a trained medic nor a _son of a glitch of an engineer who needs to stop wailing like a sparkling and talk about it_ so take what I say with a, um, grain of salt, is it? Human expressions are so strange."

"Yeah…thanks though Blue." Sam said slowly, his mind still processing and cataloguing the possibilities. It was impossible—it had to be.

…But with the Allspark? Maybe…maybe it wasn't so impossible. But even if, somehow, someway, the stupid cube managed to give him a spark, wouldn't he have still been burned up into a human sized bit of char like Blue said? What, then, was keeping him alive?

"Sam?" a voice questioned from the open doorway and Sam drifted out of his musings long enough to glance at Bee. He smiled slowly and, though his guardian had no lips, he still got the impression of a smile back. Blushing (he was making a damn habit of it), Sam waved him over to where he was sitting and where Bluestreak was still shouting obscenities and banging on the door.

"Hey Bee, did you get the energon that you needed?" Sam asked as Bee sat down next to him and he winced as the Autobot paid no attention to the generous puddles of mud, his hip landing in one with a wet splash.

"Yes, thank you. Did you find Ratchet?" Bee responded, gently picking up the human in his palm and setting him on his knee. He noted Sam's wince and tried to avoid the rest of the puddles. Shifting to get into a more comfortable position, Sam hardly found it strange anymore that he _could_ get comfortable on the metal underneath him. Bee was surprisingly pillow-like for a being made completely out of hard metal plates.

"No, I didn't. And I couldn't find Prowl either. Found Wheeljack, though." Sam responded.

"Really? Where is he? What did he have to say?" Bee chirped, swinging his head back and forth in search of the aforementioned mech.

"Over there." Sam said wryly, waving a lackluster hand over at the screaming Bluestreak and the still closed door.

Bumblebee blinked. He had automatically tuned Bluestreak out, a talent that he had become adept at after spending thousands of vorns in the grey bot's company and being subjected to his, at times, never ending babble. Focusing on the young gunner, he phased his audios into once again picking up his voice.

"…_bloody hell glitched spawn son of a fragged off defunct motherboard, open this bloody door!_" And reeled back at the zealous cursing offered to him.

"I…don't understand. _Where's_ Wheeljack?" Bumblebee asked, leaning his voice module closer to Sam in an effort to whisper.

"Behind the door that Blue's trying to get open. I dunno what happened, Bee. I came in on it about a minute ago myself. But I talked to Blue and he had no idea what was up, either. Said it sounded like a Spark. But that's impossible…" Sam trailed off, waiting for his guardian to cut him off and interject with his own negative agreement. When he didn't, Sam twisted around in his position, locking his eyes onto the yellow bot's optics, "Isn't it?"

"Sam, I have…suspected something. But I was hoping Ratchet could find out for sure. Since no one seems to want to be found, however, we shall have to make them be found." Bee replied before carefully standing, Sam gradually sliding off his leg and onto the floor.

"What? Bee, what do you mean?" Sam was distressed—what did Bee suspect? And what did he mean _make_ them be found?

He got his answer to the last question as Bee went up to the door and, completely ignoring Bluestreak's continuing efforts in drawing the engineer out, he unsubspaced a spare combat rifle and shot the electrical panel.

With a pained whoosh and the smell of fried circuits, the door burst open, startling the human and gunner who just looked at Bee with something akin to astonishment. The Camaro just shrugged.

"We need an opinion. There's no time for pleasantries." He said, subspacing the rifle back into oblivion and stepping into the closet.

"Blue! I said I didn't want to talk, okay!" Wheeljack screamed from his curled position plastered against the opposite wall.

"Blue's not the one that wants to talk, Wheeljack." Bumblebee said shortly, edging into the mech-sized closet. Wheeljack started and turned sharply around at his voice, staring in confused shock at the young Autobot.

"Bee? What—where's Bluestreak?" Wheeljack asked, his voice lacking any tone and sounding weak. Sam wouldn't have believed it had been Wheeljack who spoke if he hadn't seen it himself, usually the inventor was so loud and boisterous, even after getting blown up. What could have caused him to curl so far within himself?

"I'm here." Bluestreak said lightly, completely opposite to his previous loud noises a second ago, pushing through Bee and approaching Wheeljack cautiously, "I'm not gonna leave you, you slag-head."

"Blue…things have gotten way too messed up." Wheeljack said softly.

"I know. And I'm sorry." Bluestreak said sadly, halting his advancing steps and lowering his head in shame.

"Don't you dare be apologetic!" Wheeljack shouted suddenly, causing Sam and Bumblebee to frantically backpedal out of the closet that they had slowly been inching in to get a better view of the two conversing Autobots. Blue only took a single step back, his optic's widening.

"But I was the one who—" the gunner started.

"What? I _asked_ for it Blue. It was _me_. If anyone should be sorry, it should be me." Wheeljack stated firmly, uncoiling from his ball and standing straight.

Bluestreak met his optics in puzzlement, "Then why did you run away? If this was really all your idea, why did you hide from me, 'Jack?"

"It was just too much. I know that, now, you know all about my…" Wheeljack made a vague gesture to his once again in place facemask, "And I didn't think I was ready to share that particular piece of my past."

Blue shook his head in something like affectionate annoyance, "You don't think it changes my feelings for you, do you? You should be able to _feel_now that it doesn't. Just like I can feel that you, knowing my dark little secrets, still love me."

Despite Blue's confident tone, Wheeljack could still hear the slight edge of questioning in his last words, "Yes, I...guess I can." He sent his admission through their new bond as well as vocally, his mental touch tentative and explorative down the new pathway that lead to his lover's mind and that could never again be fully closed. Blue felt him reach out and, just as tentatively, accepted him.

All at once all tension drained from both bot's frames as they were plunged into the sea that was their love for each other. No matter their pasts, they still could, and would, always love each other.

Sam and Bumblebee, not privy to the mental exchange, could only see the physical aspect as both bots' postures stopped emanating tension and instead started to radiate something close to relaxation. Sam sent a questioning look up at his guardian who could only shrug in response, "Wheeljack and Bluestreak are one of the most confusing couples I've ever seen. I don't get it and I've stopped trying to."

Sam couldn't hold back a chuckle at Bee's reply, "It must have been some sort of lover's spat, then."

"That would be my guess. And still…Wheeljack hardly ever acts that inconsiderate, even when he's mad at someone." Bee said contemplatively. Sam just sighed in increased puzzlement. He just wanted answers, damn it, not more questions.

The two lovers were unaware of the exchange that was going on between the observing mech and human, still wrapped up in each other through their bond. Dragging himself out slowly and regretfully, Wheeljack took a deep intake of air before even attempting speech, "That is..."

"Worth it—the secrets. So, so worth it." Bluestreak breathed back, off balance still after the exchange. At this stage they were still too inexperienced to hide feelings from each other, so they'd be getting the brunt of each other's emotions for a while. Bluestreak frowned slightly, they also couldn't exchange anything other than emotions. Words were too complicated for this early stage, but he desperately wanted to know more about his mate and silently worded communication would have made it all the more private and easy.

" 'Jack?" the inventor tilted his head lightly to indicate he was listening, his ear-fins still emanating a pleasant glow, "Even if it was worth it now, in retrospect, why'd you want to do it then? If you thought you weren't ready?"

"I…" Wheeljack started hesitantly, faltering slightly before steadfastedly holding onto his hardened resolve, "I…don't really know. It was almost as if something was…pushing me towards it. It felt like a burning pain in my chassis, right over my spark. It pulsed and writhed and it made me…_want_ it like I never had before."

At Blue's crestfallen look, the inventor suddenly tried to amend his words, "It wasn't that I didn't want it, Blue! Those feelings were real, you know that, it was just that I never thought that I would act on them so _soon_, s'all." Wheeljack sent his hurried placation through their bond as well and Blue, when obtaining both the verbal and mental assurance, nodded that he understood—his doubt once again forcibly banished in light of his absolute knowledge of Wheeljack's feelings for him.

"Sorry to break this up guys, but I needed to talk to you, Wheeljack…" Sam said lightly, stepping into the closet only enough to let the bots notice him. Optic's darting towards the human, both of the bots still inside the closet were surprised to realize that there were other people there.

"Sam! I'm sorry!" Bluestreak said, rushing his intakes in a quick bout of embarrassment and awkwardly moving himself out of the closet and out of the way.

"What can I help you with Sam?" Wheeljack asked, leaning down to be on more of a level with the human. He spared a second to shoot an amused glance at the still flustered Bluestreak who was almost outrageously alarmed at being so inconsiderate. Bumblebee was making a rather poor attempt at comforting his fellow bot, just tapping him lightly above the shoulder wing and spouting out a few monotone sayings to try and pacify him.

"I wanted someone to check out a few things that I think might be wrong with me." Sam said, and, at Wheeljack's worried and frazzled look, assured him that he didn't _think_ it was anything immediately life threatening, "Bee thinks it might have something to do with the Allspark, so I wanted to see you guys instead of just an earth doctor."

"He says he gets chest pain." Bumblebee piped up from outside the closet, still absentmindedly patting a still babbling Bluestreak.

"Sounds like heartburn." Wheeljack stated.

Sam rolled his eyes, "Been there, done that."

"What?" Wheeljack asked, confused.

"Never mind. Just trust me that it's not heartburn, okay?"

"Okay…" Wheeljack said uncertainly, "But shouldn't you bee seeing Ratchet about this? Or at least reporting it to Prowl?"

"I would if I could, but they're, apparently, in _hiding_." Sam shot out.

"What!" Wheeljack asked, incredulous. The thought of either of those bots hiding from their problems rather than just shooting and or yelling at them was baffling to his CPU. It, simply, did not compute.

"That's what I thought, too." Sam agreed with a self-satisfied nod.

"Do you think you could do something?" Bee asked. Blue hiccupped once and finally ceased his rambling apology. Bee, taking this to mean he was consoled at last, removed his hand from its continued patting motion and rolled his arm's joints slightly to ease the soreness that had accumulated from the repetitive movement.

"I could try, but we really should find Ratchet and do some tests." Wheeljack said, standing and stepping over the human and out of the closet.

Following, Sam watched the closet door close sluggishly and painfully behind them before facing the three Autobots, "If you could just give me your opinion on if you think it's something serious or not would be great, 'Jack."

"I can do that. Describe your symptoms?"

"It's like a burning pain right over my heart. It's not at all overly painful, more pleasant than not, but it makes me feel all, well, bothered, I guess. And…" Sam tried his hardest not to blush and shot a look over at Bee who, for his part, did that small smile thing in encouragement, "It almost always happened whenever Bee or I…admitted something to each other."

"Ah…" Wheeljack said knowingly. A little too knowingly for Sam's liking, as the engineer glanced between him and Bumblebee with a significant look.

"Hey, that sounds like what you said you felt, 'Jack." Bluestreak interjected. Sam furrowed his brow, either the gunner had gotten the hidden message and had already accepted it, or he'd just missed it all together.

"It does, doesn't it?" Wheeljack agreed, his optics going blank in a way that Sam had learned to associate as Wheeljack's Thinking a Problem Through Time, "Sam?"

"Yes?"

"During these, ah, 'attacks,' did they seem to influence your behavior into doing something that you previously might not have done?" Wheeljack asked with no inflection in his voice.

"Kinda…it, um, well, it got us to confess those...things. To each other." Sam said stiltedly, his head turned and refusing to look anyone in the face.

Wheeljack took his answer in stride, a frown clear in the frantic flashes of his ear fins.

" 'Jack?" Bluestreak questioned in apprehension.

At the sound of his name, Wheeljack's optics lost its sheen of concentration and he glanced down at a still flushed Sam, "We need to find Ratchet. Now."

"What? Wheeljack, what's wrong with him?" Bumblebee asked, his voice rising slightly. Sam, the implications of Wheeljack's request sinking in, ceased all fidgeting and just stared in uncomprehending fear at the floor. Taking one look at his charge, Bee pushed his way over to the inventor and grasped him by his shoulders, shaking him lightly, "It has something to do with the Allspark, doesn't it? _Doesn't_ it!"

"I…don't know yet, Bee." Wheeljack said with compassion, staring him straight in the optics, "But I do know that we need to run some tests. Immediately. And I need Ratchet for that."

"Sam said that he was hiding, though. How can we find him?" Blue said, grasping Bee's hand and pulling it off his mate's shoulder. He blamed the bond's newness for his over-protectiveness as he did it with a bit more force then he technically needed to. Bee, however, wasn't paying enough attention to notice, still focused on Wheeljack and waiting for him to answer Blue's question.

"I've known Ratchet for most of our lives. That's thousands upon thousands of vorns in each other's company. I'd like to think that I know him well enough by now to know where'd he go if he didn't want to be found." Wheeljack said, his optics gleaming. Bee nodded in acknowledgement and took another glance at his human before shuttering his optics.

"So, where do we go and what do we do?"

* * *

I swear, if the italics thing is still messed up I'm going to have a fit. Gah! But it looked okay in the preview, honest!

Ah...right.

I hope you enjoyed and we get even more explanation next chapter! Yay! And, to answer those of you who wanted to know where Ironhide and Optimus are (ShiTiger and gs I'm looking at you here), they'll be in the next chapter. At least Optimus will. I'm not too sure if Ironhide's making his appearance next chapter or in the one after next.

Thank you for reading, once again, and please feel free to drop me a line!


	7. As the Ark Turns

Well. It's been...a reeeeeeeally long time, huh? I swear, I AM working on this story, I just seem to be slowing down and losing momentum. I AM determined to FINISH IT NO MATTER HOW MUCH IT REFUSES TO BE FINISHED, however. So no matter how sporadic the updates get, know that they WILL continue till the end. But I apologize for the amount of time it has taken me to get this chapter up. But hey! There's even MORE plot development! YAY!

And thank you to all of you who were nice enough to point out the italics problem was okay last chapter. I hope it stays that way. Else I'm going to have a SERIOUS TALK with Microsoft Word.

I owe so freaking much to my wondrous beta-reader Kesera for this chapter. She basically helped me word by word to write the first two paragraphs, so a lot of the word placement and lack of rambling goes to her. She also did some AMAZING calculations for Cybertronian to Earth time units and helped me immensely on that front as well. Also, she managed to get this back to me after beta-ing during her BIRTHDAY WEEK. So Happy Birthday to HER and I hope she has an awesome weekend.

Thanks again to Daebereth and .groove who were kind enough to point out some bad spelling of mine in the last chapter. And some more birthday wishes once again to Dragowolf whose birthday was a few days ago.

But I digress...because I ramble so much. XD

* * *

Optimus blew a light puff of incredulous air out his intakes the moment he crossed the threshold and beheld the sight before him—a group of mechs that he held in high esteem, some of his elite soldiers and upper staff who had spent vorns serving together, and they looked completely and utterly ridiculous.

He had been inspecting the Ark's security systems with Red Alert who had just put the finishing touches on the system when he had received the message from Wheeljack requesting an immediate meeting in one of the small, barely used rec-rooms. He had been annoyed at the interruption and had almost declined to the engineer's face, his professional, sophisticated leader persona be damned to the slag-pits. Red Alert's paranoid insistence that Wheeljack was attempting to blow up the Ark and the interruption of their meeting was clearly sabotage had only served to aggravate him further. Then he noticed how completely and absolutely serious Wheeljack was with no trace of his normal jovial demeanor. That in and of itself was so unusual and alarming that Optimus had nary a choice but to come and see what the masked mech wanted of him.

He didn't expect to walk into a room of his crème de la crème acting like a bunch of nervous, first-orn academy trainees, however.

It was completely, disturbingly silent and yet Optimus could still tell that Jazz was doing everything in his power to try and comfort Prowl who was just about doing everything in his own power to look anywhere but at the lieutenant sitting on the couch next to him. An impressive feat, Optimus had to concede. It was _not_easy to ignore Jazz when he didn't want to be ignored. Ratchet had all but plastered himself against one side of the room, his chair practically imbedded into the wall. He kept darting flighty and unreadable glances at the weary twins who, for once respecting the status-quo of silence, only returned them with equally silent, flighty glances of their own from the opposite corner of the room.

Sam and Bumblebee, the seeming pillar of light and stability in the whole of the room, were leaning lightly against the wall to the right of the Autobot leader, for all intents and purposes napping while the scene of outrageous incredulity unfolded before them. Wheeljack and Bluestreak were also acting fairly normal.

In comparison anyway. Optimus was fairly certain that in any other circumstance the erratic and meaningless gestures they threw at each other while exchanging nothing verbally would have been considered decidedly non-normal.

"Well?" Optimus demanded, causing most of the mechs in the room to jump. Had they really missed his entrance? Were they _that_ much out of it that they had failed to notice his brightly colored, relatively large chassis waltz through the door? Optimus just managed to not roll his optics when no one said anything, merely training their eyes anywhere but on their fellow mechs, "Come on, I was told this was an emergency and I can only leave Red Alert alone on the monitors for a limited time before he goes crazy."

The silence was deafening. He could have cut it with his electro-ax. Considering the thought of taking out the weapon if only to threaten _somebody_ into answering his questions, Optimus was shocked out of his only slightly murderous thoughts as Bumblebee clicked into a short speech.

"We think it has something to do with the Allspark." The yellow bot muttered. At the mention of the sacrosanct barer of all sparks, everyone in the room couldn't suppress a small wince.

"What?" Optimus asked, stunned. His entire science team had analyzed the piece of Allspark that he had pulled from Megatron's chest and Preceptor, Hoist, Wheeljack, and even Ratchet had found it completely dead, "How is that even possible?"

"That part's my fault." Sam stated. Optimus craned his head down to look at the small human, raising an optic ridge in question.

"Once we found him, _Ratchet_," Sam said with a pointed glare in the medic's direction. Said medic grumbled and just folded more into himself while shooting a glare at Wheeljack, "and Wheeljack did a few more scans on me and found that something weird was happening."

"Something…weird?" Optimus echoed, attempting to achieve some sort of clarification.

"That's all I got." Sam said with a shrug, "If you want more info, ask the scaredy-cat over there."

Optimus followed the human's pointing appendage to the hunkering Ratchet. Googling the term "scaredy-cat," Optimus found it hard to apply to the usually animated and grouchy medic. Taking a closer look at his old friend, however, he noticed that something had seriously happened to change his demeanor so drastically. This was definitely important. Hopefully Red Alert could hold on a bit longer—though he _did_ have Inferno there to keep him marginally sane, so Optimus would give him about one more breem before all hell would break loose.

"Ratchet?" Optimus prompted when the medic did nothing. Ratchet glanced down at his lap, his fingers fidgeting. Twisting his facial plates in slight annoyance, Optimus repeated the mech's name with a bit more force, "Ratchet!"

Snapping to attention, the rescue vehicle locked optics with his commander with a small twitch. Meeting the pleading eyes, Optimus just raised another optic ridge. With a long suffering exhalation of intakes, Ratchet stood up and all optics were immediately glued to his frame.

Shuffling embarrassedly (Optimus had to stare at that—Ratchet hadn't been _nervous_ since he had graduated from the medical academy with honors) Ratchet cleared his intakes and spoke.

"We couldn't recognize it at first. Our regular instruments couldn't detect it. Once I became aware that…something irregular was happening and that it might have some connection to Sam, we ran a few more in depth tests."

"And they came up with surprising results." Wheeljack added, breaking away from Bluestreak to stand next to Ratchet. The medic acknowledged the support with a small tilt of his head, one with a slightly angry edge to it, however, Optimus noted dryly. What _had_Wheeljack done to upset the medic so horribly?

"The Allspark is alive, Optimus," Ratchet stated after a moment, locking optics with the leader to impart the magnitude of the statement. It was unnecessary. The moment he had heard it, Optimus's CPU had dropped all thoughts to the interrelations of his officers as it reeled at the possibilities. Then…their race was saved!

"How? Why?" Optimus implored, his vocals cracking with the intensity of emotion.

"Why is a little tricky. As for how…" Wheeljack shot a small look at Sam and Optimus thought he might have an idea, "When Sam destroyed the Allspark, he didn't so much destroy it as…weaken it."

"Weak and unable to support itself outside of its protective container, the Allspark sought out the only other living thing near that could house it as it slowly recovered." Ratchet explained.

"Me." Sam said, interjecting into the conversation. Sometime since Optimus had come in, the human had crawled up to sit on Bee, leaning against his guardian who had one hand wrapped protectively around him.

"Yes, we were getting to that," Ratchet snapped. Optimus hid a smile behind a cough, the extended explanation seemed to be doing Ratchet some good.

"What does any of this have to do with…the events that have taken place?" Prowl spoke softly from the couch.

"The Allspark…well, it's basically _in_ Sam, yes?" at everyone's somewhat hesitant nod, Wheeljack continued, "So it can act _through_ him, yes?" everyone's nod was somewhat stilted at that, most clearly not completely understanding.

Ratchet, noticing the confusion, continued, "It was the Allspark that must have done something, through Sam, to a few of the Autobots here. And our best guess is that it was by touch."

"So, what? It just implanted these feelings in you or something?" Sunstreaker asked snidely, his gaze sharply focused on Ratchet's frame.

"Ah…well, no. It's a little bit more complicated than that…" Wheeljack said hesitantly, shooting a look at the suddenly subdued medic.

"Come on! How could it possibly get any more complicated?" Jazz, frustrated with Prowl for refusing to even look at him, exploded.

"The Allspark is not that…maleficent as to just make up these, ah, 'feelings' that we were, well, feeling." Wheeljack stuttered.

"Are you saying the feelings are real?" Sideswipe spoke up for the first time, his optics locked onto the now shaking form of the medic.

Ratchet, his own optics locked on the floor rather than at the now rapt twins answered with a small voice, "Yes."

"You can't be implying what I think you're implying." Prowl said from the couch, moving for the first time to face the two mechs who were explaining. Wheeljack immediately turned to face the tactician, but Ratchet stared unwaveringly at the floor between his feet. He could feel the twins' gaze on him and the last thing he wanted was to have to meet their piercing optics. That would mean answers, and he just didn't have any.

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean, _Prowlie_?" Jazz said, his tone ice.

The room went silent and Optimus mentally groaned at the return of the tension. Prowl slowly turned in his seat to face the saboteur, finally locking optics to visor.

"We are friends, Jazz." He said smoothly.

"So? Doesn't mean we can't be more." Jazz growled.

"I…the emotions were always there, Prowl," Wheeljack said, glancing evasively between the two bots on the couch, "The Allspark merely helped them come to the surface. Forced us to act on them. They were—are…real."

"Hear that? That means you must have felt—feel something. For me." Jazz said, his tone softening slightly and he brought one hand up to almost touch Prowl's doorwing. Everyone in the room grew uncomfortable as the moment between the bots became more and more personal, but they couldn't leave until this issue was completely resolved. They just had to make do with avoiding looking at them and trying to tune out their conversation.

They failed miserably. It was like watching a train wreck, Sam reflected, his eyes focused raptly on the veritable alien soap opera before him.

"That is…possible, I'll admit. But I don't think it's the best idea—" Prowl continued, stubbornly refusing to move back at the sight of Jazz's advancing hand.

"Which is why you slinked out before I onlined, right?" Jazz asked, halting his hand centimeters from Prowl's wingtip.

Prowl's optics flashed, "I wasn't _slinking_. I was merely…going to someplace else. To think."

"Lots of help that did, huh? You still didn't come to the right conclusion." Jazz said and Optimus noticed that there was a bit of his trademark grin slipping into the tone.

"And what 'right conclusion' might that be?" Prowl asked dryly and, though he tried to stop it, his wing fluttered slightly, batting against Jazz's hand.

"Come on, Prowlie. For once in your life, take a chance. Take it on me." Jazz said lightly, trailing his hand lightly over the tip of Prowl's wing in the unconsciously asked for caress.

"I don't take chances." Prowl said, but even Bumblebee could see his resolve weakening, his whole body leaning into Jazz's lightly stroking fingers. And if Bee had noticed it, he could be sure that Jazz had, too.

"You can take this one. I promise you the odds are definitely in your favor." Jazz said lightly, running his hand down Prowl's wing and lightly brushing more of the appendage.

"Jazz…" Prowl rumbled, no longer controlling his lean into Jazz's fingers. With that small submission, Jazz knew he'd won. He smiled one of his regular smiles and leaned in to give Prowl a small peck on the mouth.

When it looked like the peck might have evolved into something decidedly more involved, Bluestreak coughed with a squeak of his intakes. The two mechs broke apart and Jazz smiled sheepishly at the room.

"Sorry 'bout that, guys." He said, completely without shame.

"Like rabid turbofoxes." Sideswipe mumbled, loud enough for the room to hear him. It earned a small, forced chuckle from the gathered Autobots.

"I can kinda get how it managed to make you act on your 'hidden feelings'," Bluestreak started once the cold laughter had died down, curving two of his metal fingers into representations of the quote marks around the words, "But why? What caused it to just start acting up so randomly?"

Wheeljack shot a look at Ratchet, the only mech in the whole room who hadn't taken any notice of Prowl and Jazz and who was too focused on his inner musings to hear the question. Elbowing Ratchet in the midsection, Wheeljack was only slightly gratified when the medic shook himself back to attention, "What?"

"They want to know," Wheeljack said softly to Ratchet with apology in his optics. They hadn't said anything of what they had figured out in the hopes that it wouldn't need to be publicized, but with the question asked, it had to come out now, "_Why_the Allspark did what it did."

Ratchet's whole frame shook and Optimus shot a look at the twins who were halfway out of their seats, obviously wanting to go and comfort the medic but unable to know how he would take it. Optimus was quick to put two and two together and, after running the context of the previous conversations through his CPU one more time, he turned a more calculating eye on the assembled Autobots, noting the groupings. He was hard pressed to stifle his amused grin as he realized the reason for Bumblebee and Sam being so suddenly clingy, though he couldn't help the twinge of worry in his spark over the medic's continued behavior.

After a few seconds and once Ratchet had gained marginal control over his shaking, he spoke, "That…that might have slightly been my fault."

There was an echo of silence before the room burst into commotion, everyone shouting out questions at Wheeljack and the frightened Ratchet. The twins, noticing Ratchet's growing distress, attempted to herd the other mechs away from him, yelling at them to shut up and unfortunately only adding to the cacophony of noise and Ratchet's distress rather than decreasing it.

"Just let us explain!" Wheeljack shouted over everyone. Reluctantly, but still obeying, the standing mechs returned to their seats. The twins sent one last look at Ratchet before also returning to theirs, though they both sat on edge with optics trained on the still shaking mech, ready to spring out to help him at a moment's notice and only listened with half an audio as Wheeljack continued explaining. "At Sam's last check up, he and Ratchet had a conversation that lead to…some regrets over never seeing sparklings again. I'm sure that if Ratchet had known who, or what, he had been talking to, he would have never made the wish."

"The Allspark must have understood it as me asking permission." Ratchet said quietly and the other mechs in the room stared sheepishly at him as his melancholy tone registered. It was so decidedly…un-Ratchet-like that it made all the bots pause and not flock the medic with continued questions.

"So, um… it's like you went into heat or something?" Sam asked from where he was relaxing against Bee. He knew it was a sensitive time, he could tell by the continued silence, but his brain hurt and he really needed the clarification before something imploded in his head.

"In a crude way, yes, I suppose you could say that." Wheeljack agreed.

"Then why'd it not just affect the doc?" Jazz asked, keeping one optic underneath his visor on the CMO but addressing the question to Wheeljack. He didn't think he'd ever seen Ratchet like this. Was he really taking bedding the twins so hard? Sure, it was a shock, but with the way that Ratchet was constantly in the twin's lives—fixing them, throwing things at them, helping them get out of trouble—he couldn't see how he _wouldn't_ have developed some kind of feelings for them.

"Sam just harbors the Allspark, it's not like he can control it. But he still has some sort of connection to it, one that we're going to have to do a few more tests on to confirm, and he must have accidentally…prolonged the Allspark's consciousness and affected all those that he touched." Wheeljack explained.

"With the Allspark's acquiescence…" Sideswipe began, only to choke on air as his CPU came up with the answer before he could voice it.

"…does that mean that…well, that there's a chance for…sparklings?" Sunstreaker finished his brother's thought, staring intently at the medic who, flinchingly, raised his head and finally met his gaze.

Silent and expecting, the room was hushed and Wheeljack, locking optics with the surprised ones of Bluestreak, was oh so loathe to break it, "The idea is of…relatively plausible possibility, yes."

Though his revelation failed to garner forth another public outcry, the silence after it was just as bad. Sam and Bee, for the first time since the meeting had started, were also slightly startled at the revelation, they hadn't thought that far ahead. Even Optimus couldn't find anything to say.

Sparklings? Here? On Earth? Optimus didn't know if he should be excited _and_ horrified about the prospect this presented or just good old plan horrified. Looking around at the group of decidedly unstable mechs, Optimus was slowly leaning towards the second.

Well. This would certainly prove to be interesting.

* * *

Ironhide had been having a good day. Relatively, anyway. While his previously construed notions of a "good" day hadn't beforehand included toting around Will Lennox and his posse as the so called "designated" driver, he had gotten some rather compromising recordings of Lennox that he could now hold over the captain and hopefully cause him to _cease_annoying him about his new altmode. It wasn't funny. _Especially_ the three thousandth or so time.

The weapon specialist spent a dark moment wherein he considered just releasing the video without giving the captain a chance to stop him as he recalled how the giggling drunkards had forced him to drop them off a few blocks from the bar so that they weren't seen in such a "girly" car. It positively rankled Ironhide that the humans would dare to think he was anything less than un-girly.

Because he _so_ was.

"Come on Red! It's only been a few breems—"

"And that's over half longer than Optimus said he would be gone! I tell you, he could be lying somewhere in a Decepticon trap! We should be planning immediate procedures to rescue him!"

Ironhide paused outside the security office, the conversation not odd so much as the fact that it was happening on (he quickly double checked the downloaded duty log) Optimus's inspection shift. A peek inside the open door and into the monitor filled room, however, failed to provide the instant visual of the large red and blue leader. Instead of that great bastion of calm, there was rather all that could possibly be designated as the opposite.

Red Alert. With Inferno. Alone. Ironhide let his face fall into his hand in a human display of _ah, crap_. Red Alert, by himself, was bad. Give him Inferno, however, and the Chief Security Officer was a walking nervous wreck of catastrophic proportions.

Well, more so than usual, anyway.

Under normal circumstances, Ironhide found Red's little crush hilarious. There was quite possibly nothing else he considered more enjoyable then watching the paranoid security director—who was already a bit far off into the deep end—go almost completely bat-crap crazy as he tried to do everything in his power to _not_ give himself away.

Which, inadvertently, gave him away. To everyone. Except, of course, to the blissfully unaware fire truck who wouldn't know a clue if it hit him over the head with his own ladder.

"Red! Wheeljack said it was important. Optimus could just be caught up—" Inferno tried, attempting to placate the smaller mech with a hand on his shoulder.

"Cau-caught up!" Red stuttered, jumping away from the fire truck's hand as though it burned and plastering himself on the opposite side of the small room faster than Ironhide could hope to follow, "See! Even _you_ think he's caught!"

Ironhide noted Inferno's small look of hurt that was almost immediately covered by a harried one. The fire truck was used to calming down the security director, but even Ironhide could tell that he was getting annoyed and just a bit depressed at the fact that Red constantly flinched away from him.

Huh. Mayhap the crush wasn't so one-sided.

Ironhide snorted out his intakes. This was getting to be too much like those disgusting soap opera shows that Sarah always insisted on watching. He couldn't understand why humans, whose lives he thought were pretty much messed up on their own, constantly viewed recordings of outlandish situations concerning people even _worse_ off than them. Thank god the Ark didn't have that much drama. Ironhide was grateful for that, if anything.

"Break it up, you guys." Ironhide thundered as he stepped into the room, stooping a bit to fit his bulk through the doorway.

"Ironhide!" Red Alert exclaimed almost instantly, "Quick, it's Optimus! He's been captured by Decepticons—"

"Hello there, Ironhide." Inferno said, cutting the smaller mech off quickly, "Have a fun day with your human?"

Barely resisting the urge to growl, Ironhide replayed his new vid files before answering, the added visual reminder warming his spark to something akin to vengeful happiness, "It was…educational. I never really understood the human phrase 'drunk as a skunk' until now."

Deciding that he really didn't want to know, Inferno just shook his head in resignation. Noting the movement, Ironhide frowned. Those humans were infectious. Soon they'd be swooning and crying and doing all those dramatic human things if this continued to carry on.

"But what about Optimus?" the security director exclaimed, interjecting into the conversation and gesturing wildly to import the significance of the situation.

Ironhide shared a look with the frustrated Inferno before replying, "How 'bout this Red: I'll go check up on Optimus and make sure he hasn't…ah…"

"Fallen into enemy hands." Inferno suggested dryly.

"Yeah," Ironhide said slowly, "That."

"Excellent! Thank you so much, 'Hide! He's in the rec room on Level 5." Red said, positively gleeful at the fact that someone was taking him seriously. Truthfully, Ironhide had needed to see Optimus anyway, he still had a few lingering complaints about certain aspects of the Ark's reconstruction that he felt _should_ have been number one priority. Namely, the shooting range.

Honestly, just because it _looked_ like the Decepticons had taken a break didn't mean a slagging thing. They needed to be in top shape should the sons of glitches come crawling out of the woodwork as they were prone to doing and how were they supposed to do that if Optimus refused to prioritize correctly?

"My pleasure, Red." Ironhide said, casually smacking the security officer in the back "companionably." He waltzed out with an equally causal, "See ya 'round Inferno!"

He chuckled softly as the fire truck was unable to respond, arms currently full of flailing Lamborghini as Ironhide's "innocent" push had all but thrown the smaller mech directly into his arms. Strangled sounds of embarrassment melded with frantic metallic clangs as Red desperately attempted to disentangle his limbs from those of a profusely apologizing Inferno.

Humming a catchy tune to himself as he strolled down the corridors and away from the haphazard pile of mech in the security office, Ironhide made for the lift to take him up a few levels. As he approached the double doors of the elevator, however, Ironhide suddenly caught himself doing the irritatingly human habit and winced. True, it wasn't his fault that he had heard the song over thirty times that night—Lennox had expressed a rather frantic love of it—and it _was_ the background to the lovely Files of Blackmail that he was continuously playing, but the fact that it seemed to be placed in loop and was incessantly playing through his CPU left him a bit unsure of his mental capabilities.

'Ah well,' Ironhide decided, 'the song could be worse,' before positively _skipping_ onto the elevator and replaying the vids one last time, cranking up the volume on his speakers as the lift doors closed shut to better enjoy the recorded experience.

"_You are the Dancing Queen! Young and sweet, only seventeen!_"

* * *

It…wasn't that he didn't want it.

Apparently, anyway. So he had been told.

Just…what was he supposed to do with this?

Ratchet was all kinds of confused. There was no possible way this could ever hope to end well. Sure, Prowl and Jazz he could see. Wheeljack and Blue were bound to have sparkbonded eventually. Even Bumblebee and _Sam_, for Primus sake, wasn't that unreasonable.

But him and the twins? The idea hadn't even entered his CPU until he had suddenly found himself all but _mauling_ them.

…Okay, so that wasn't completely true. But three or four times didn't constitute him having _feelings _for them. They were practically the bane of his existence.

And they _really_ needed to stop looking at him like that.

"Sparklings?" Sam breathed out in disbelief. He only had vague ideas about the enormity of the situation, but even he could tell that this was major.

"A _possibility._" Wheeljack was quick to correct, breaking optic contact with Blue and turning to face the rest of the room. The small twitches and glows of his earfins, however, betrayed the fact that while he might be no longer looking at Bluestreak, he was still somewhat communicating with the gunner.

"A rather good one, nonetheless." Prowl stated calmly. A calm that was contradicted by his sudden death grip on one of Jazz's hands. The saboteur leaned in closer to Prowl, offering his comfort silently. And though Ratchet was still marinating in his own specialized brew of depression, ultimate confusion, and absolute denial, he still couldn't help but lift his mouth plates in a small smile as he noticed the gesture.

At least _one_ good thing had come out of this situation: that damnable 30 vorn old tension between the two black and whites was _finally_ over and dealt with.

"And enough of one that we should make immediate preparations." Optimus interjected from where he still stood only slightly in front of the rec-room door.

"Immediate?" Sam asked from his perch on Bee's knee, his innate curiosity about Cybertronians once again overriding his confusion, "Exactly how long does it take for a…sparkling to be born, anyway?"

"About 60 astrocycles, one hundredth of a vorn." Wheeljack stated. At Sam's blank look, however, he added, "Ah…one earth year. Give or take."

Sam couldn't figure that one out. For beings who lived such a long lives, that seemed like an inordinately small proportion of time before their young were to be born, "That certainly is immediate." He'd have to question Bee about it later on.

"Immediate in that we need to make some serious changes. As of now, I'm taking all of you except Bumblebee off the active field duty roaster until this can be completely sorted out. If any of you _are_ carrying sparklings, I don't want you or your partners out in the field."

Prime's announcement was followed by instantaneous chaos.

"Prime, I still have those strategic field tests that I need—"

"First Aid is a good medic, don't get me wrong, but—"

"I still haven't finished analyzing those chemicals—"

"You think you're going to find someone _else_ crazy enough to be in the front lines—"

"Special Ops still has that ongoing—"

"But I still haven't gotten used to the new range on my rifle—"

"Enough!" Prime roared and the hoard of Autobots fell silent instantly, though Bee and Sam—who had remained silent through the lot of objections—could practically _feel_ the energy around the seven Autobots crackle as they barely held themselves in check.

"I said active _field_ duty. You'll all be responsible for your usual in house duties, but I will _not_ see any of you out in the field. There's plenty of opportunity for monitor duty, or—" Prime started to coolly explain.

"All due respect, Prime," Sideswipe interrupted, "But you're gonna put me and Sunny on _monitor_ duty?"

"They have a point, Sir. Most of us have other obligations that we need to get done outside the field, such as a backup of paper work," Prowl sent a pointed glance in Ratchet's direction and the medic pretended to not notice the reminder, "But the Twins and Bluestreak are not officers. They're soldiers; their places are not behind desks."

Though cynical, most of the mechs present had to agree to the SIC's point.

"This is not a permanent reassignment. But the course of action _is_ clear: I will notsend a mech who is even suspected of being with sparkling into the battle-field nor will I send their partner—the balance between sparklings and their creators is much too delicate at this stage for me to just throw either creator away in a skirmish. We can make do without the Twins and Bluestreak for a few astrocycles and they can deal with being restricted to base. Is that clear?" Prime's voice was steady and clear and left no room for arguments.

"I…suppose that we can work some sort of new schedule out." Prowl said, breaking the silence and all the mechs present reluctantly agreed with mumbles and nods.

"Good, I'm glad we're in agreement," Prime said, glancing over his slowly simmering down troops before locking his optics onto the silent pair of Autobot and human, "Sam, if it's not too much trouble, I think it might be best if you stayed here for the next few weeks. At least until we can figure everything out."

Sam nodded, "I understand, Prime. I just hope my parents'll see it the same way." Bee chuckled at the last part and tapped his charge lightly on the head. Sam swatted his hand away and mock-glared at the teasing before sticking his tongue out at the yellow bot.

Bee was about to respond, but his reply was interrupted by the sudden opening of the door behind Optimus.

"Hey, Prime! I've got a bone to pick with you—" Ironhide began as he stepped through the door before halting mid-stride and staring, wide-opticed, at the scene before him.

"Yes, Ironhide?" Prime prompted gently.

"What's going on?" Ironhide grumbled, not at all fooled by his leader's attempt at placation. The room was completely silent, all gazes glued to Optimus and awaiting his decision on the matter of whether this was going to stay a secret or not.

Clearing his throat, Optimus shot the mechs and human in the room a look before stepping over to Ironhide, "Well, it's going to get out sooner or later to everyone. But I'd prefer if, for the masses, it was later. Perhaps it's best if I explain it to you in my office…" Prime said, catching Ironhide over the shoulders and all but pushing him out the door, throwing back a curt, "Dismissed," to those still in the room before briskly escorting the weapon specialist towards his office.

"Well, at least that's one mech we won't have to hide it from." Wheeljack chuckled, his earfins flashing weakly at his own joke.

"Though it begs the question of when and _how_ we're gonna tell everyone else. Something this big ain't gonna stay a secret for long. 'Specially on the Ark." Jazz said from his position next to Prowl, still loosely clasping the tactician's hand.

"We should leave that 'till we've decided if we're even going to _have_ sparklings," Ratchet said quietly before snapping, "Which means check-ups for the lot of you!"

The assembled Autobots just stared at the apparently schizophrenic medic in front of them before groaning at the prospect ahead of them.

"Hey Sam, you okay if we head out now? Get that permission from the parents?" Bee whispered to his charge as the rest of the room continued to groan about the promised checkups.

"Sounds like a plan, Bee." Sam whispered back, smiling slightly at the hoard of Autobots as they somewhat returned to normalcy. Though he couldn't help but notice that Ratchet had yet to completely shrug off his downhearted air. Glancing at the Twins, he couldn't help but also notice that their optics were still fixed on the Medic's form as well—they must have been able to detect the lingering gloominess, too.

Satisfied that the Twins could handle it (Sam blushed a bit at the implications of Ratchet _needing_ to be taken care of by the _Twins_), he slid off of his guardian's knee and slowly tiptoed out of the room, glancing behind him to see that Bee had followed his example and they silently exited the room, letting the door swish shut behind them and cut off the continued grumblings.

"There's nothing for it! Tomorrow I better see each and every one of you in the med-bay for a complete check up, you hear me? This is _not_ a negotiation." Ratchet said, glowering at the assembled mechs though he was careful not to stare too long at the Twins.

"Including yours." Wheeljack said, glancing hard at the medic.

Ratchet winced, but nodded his head, "Yes…including one for myself."

Satisfied that the medic wouldn't neglect himself for the situation, Wheeljack nodded his head back in response, "Good. Then we'll see you tomorrow."

Ratchet rolled his eyes at the engineer before shooing him off with a flick of his wrist. Grabbing a startled Bluestreak by the wing, Wheeljack dragged the spluttering gunner out of the room and into the hallway.

As the door rolled closed those left could still plainly hear Wheeljack's fading voice as it moved away, "And we've got some_serious_ issues to discuss. I can't _believe_ you never told me about…"

Smirking at the dwindling voice, Jazz inclined his head to Prowl in his own invitation to leave. Prowl tilted his head in agreement before turning to Ratchet, "We'll be in the med-bay on the marrow as well, then."

"You bet your aft you will be. So help me if you're _not_." Ratchet grumbled as the two black and whites, having said their piece, turned towards the door and also exited, both grinning slightly at the medic's returned grumpiness.

And as the door slowly closed for another time, Ratchet suddenly became aware that he was one of the last occupants of the room. That it was now just him and the Twins.

Oh slag it all to the _pits_.

* * *

Look at all that plot development! And Optimus and Ironhide were even in it as promised to ShiTiger and gs! Yay! Hopefully the next part will be faster in getting out to you. Thanks to ryagelle and her allowing me to steal her meme, however, I now have an awesome anti-writer's block tool!

Side note: Ironman anyone? And really, it is not fair to poor college students who live in towns where theaters overcharge that Ironman and Speed Racer should come out only SIX DAYS apart from each other.

But anyway, I hope you enjoyed and please feel free (even though we all know how long it takes me to get back to you because I SUCK at time-planing. Grrrr...) to drop me a line!


	8. The Times, They Are A'Changing

A/N: Sooo…it's been a few years, huh? Again, I am sorry for how long this took. The first scene kicked my butt SO BAD and it was an uphill struggle the entire time. Thank you to the wonderful people who got multiple versions of it and were kind enough to tell me what sucked and what didn't and thank you to everyone who was so wonderful and helped me through the overwhelming writer's block. Thank you especially to Azkadellia, Rhyagelle, Kd Zeal, Dragowolf, Jay-Shing and everyone else who was so kind to me and that I know I'm missing, and everyone who reviewed. Honestly, you folks keep me sane.

To Daebereth, you are amazing and lovely and fantastic and I owe you so much. Kesera you are one of the strongest people I know and thank you so much for your amazing beta-powers of awesome, you made this chapter so much more then it would have been without you.

Side note: I went through the other chapters and messed with them a bit, just in case anyone's keeping track. Not that it made that much of a difference, but just in case! Thank you all for reading and I truly appreciate it. Thank you!

* * *

Ratchet had always been sure that there was at least someone out there, in the ever-after Matrix, who was watching over him. The number of lives he had been able to miraculously save—while he would like to attribute them solely to his extraordinary skill—more or less proved it to him.

Given his current situation, however, Ratchet felt he was perfectly justified in the belief that this someone was currently taking a very long vacation.

Silence had never been one of the medic's strong points—he preferred enraged words and a carefully targeted wrench to quiet reprimands. And yet he still didn't know how to break the almost palpable hush that surrounded him and the other two mechs.

What were they expecting from him? Ratchet flexed his hands, the first movement he had made since the other bots had exited and left him alone to his fate. Making a quick decision while telling himself that _no_, this wasn't _avoidance_, exactly, the red and white mech quickly strode towards the door, determined to make his escape from the two resolute stares he could feel boring into the back of his helm.

"Running away again?"

The tone was flat and more than enough to make Ratchet stagger slightly, his pace slowing until his legs refused to respond to his CPU's commands and he stood just inches from his escape.

"I just…need to think. About this." Ratchet said slightly, head bowed and refusing to turn to face the bots behind him.

"Think about _what_ exactly?" Sunstreaker growled startlingly close to his left audio. Flinching to the right, Ratchet stumbled into Sideswipe who had crept up on his other side. Optics wide, Ratchet backtracked a few steps; he hadn't even heard them move!

"We let you run away from us once, Ratchet. Like slag we're gonna let it happen again." Sideswipe stated, his faceplates drawn together in an uncharacteristically harsh and open look, his usually jovial demeanor relinquished in light of the situation.

"We figure you need to talk about it. So talk." Sunstreaker said forcibly, stepping forward and pushing down on both of Ratchet's shoulders until the smaller bot was forced to sit on the couch that had previously housed the two black and whites. The golden bot's face softened slightly, "We know you, Ratchet. We know you need this. Hell, _we_ need this—"

"Wait." Ratchet's intakes fluttered and he focused narrowing optics at Sunstreaker, "_Know_ me? The only time I ever even _see_ you is when you're both so slagged from battle you need a complete overhaul on your lousy chassis!"

"Ratchet—" Sideswipe moved closer to the medic and his brother, hand reaching out to somehow pacify the suddenly furious and shaking medic and get back control of the spiraling situation.

"No!" Ratchet said, standing and slapping Sideswipe's hand away and shrugging out of his position between the two mechs, "This was just one pit of a mistake, and I won't let it pass for anything else—"

"You do _not_ get off so easy by labeling this a mistake!" Ratchet only had a moment to register the unrestrained fury in Sunstreaker's voice before he found himself shoved against the closest wall, the golden twin's face millimeters from his own. The medic's intakes gasped, more from surprise than pain, and any thoughts of his own fury slid out of his processors as he locked optics with the narrowed ones so close to his own.

"Are you even listening to yourself? You're so quick to write this whole thing off so you can get back to your slagging comfortable routine and fragging forget that any of this ever happened that you don't even seem to care that it isn't just about _you_. We want what's best for you, Ratchet, we do—but _we're_ what's best for you, slag it! _What are you so afraid of?_" Sunstreaker hissed, optics overly bright and his arms straining with barely controlled tension as he flexed his fingers around Ratchet's captive shoulders.

The medic trembled slightly, the blistering warmth from the bot before him rolling at him in waves and Ratchet just couldn't face the optics before him, sharply turning his head to the side, his arms going slack and falling limp at his side, "Sunstreaker. Let me go."

"_No_," the single word lacked the warrior's previous heat, whined instead in a voice almost overcome with an emotion that Ratchet refused to analyze. Ratchet winced at the tone but still resolutely refused to face him.

"Please," Ratchet entreated, wincing at the squeal of grinding gears that left Sunstreaker before he felt the hands slowly let him down.

Ratchet kept his head down and slowly stepped away from the wall, taking a few steps from the figure of the suddenly subdued twin and doing his hardest to avoid Sideswipe's penetrating stare that he could feel itching just underneath his plates. Ratchet knew that this wasn't just about him, he did, but frag it all, he needed to get his slagging thoughts in order and—

He was afraid. Afraid that he might have to admit to something that he was sure he'd wanted for orns. Something he knew, based on the leering gossip and account after account of bots being invited back to the twins' berth, that he couldn't have. He didn't want to fall into their waiting, outstretched arms only to be thrust away after a quick tumble. To let them convince him that what they had was, as trite as it sounded even in his own CPU, "real"—that it was more than one night brought on because they just happened to be in the right place at the right time was foolish. Unrealistic. Naïve.

And Ratchet was above all else realistic. He _wasn't _naïve and he wasn't a fool, so he certainly wasn't foolish enough to believe in love at first sight. He and the Twins wouldn't work—their relationship hadn't ever been based on more than exasperation and annoyance, and a one-time interfacing didn't, and couldn't, change that. They weren't ready for what he wanted—the assurance of being the only bot to share their berth and before their little "tryst" he had been perfectly fine with that. And Primus damn it he would get over this and be okay with that again.

Slowly making his way to the door, Ratchet repeated his convictions to himself over and over in a continual mantra until he was safely past the threshold and into the hallway.

Right before the door to the rec room cycled shut behind him, however, Sideswipe caught his hand and squeezed, "We'll wait for you, Ratchet."

Ratchet's intakes heaved and his frame shook and a tugging spread from his chest to his spark, insistent and burning. Sideswipe released his grip and the door closed between them, leaving Ratchet alone in the hallway.

Wait one _slagging_ minute here.

Ratchet twisted on his heel and the door barely had enough time to struggle open once again before he stormed back into the room, "_Excuse_ me? _You'll_ wait for _me_?" The burning in his spark was a throb and Ratchet could feel a tingle in the tips of his fingers but he couldn't say if it was from rage or something else altogether.

Sideswipe froze still, the hand that had grabbed Ratchet still outstretched slightly while the other hung limp at his side. Sunstreaker's frame was still torn with tension, but he managed enough arrogant incredulity to raise one mocking optic ridge, "'Waiting' too hard a concept for you, doc?"

And now Ratchet was almost positive that it was a spark-sucking fury as the tingle ran up his palms and wrists and through his arms, "Oh frag the both of you. You're incapable of _waiting_ for anything. You're both such spoiled _sparklings_—so used to getting what they want—I will _not_ be talked back into your berth through stupid, half-aft promises designed to make your berth-partners weak in the knees!"

Ratchet had the pleasure of watching Sunnstreaker's face fall from a fixed haughtiness to a look of sheer disbelief while Sideswipe's optics went wide. He had a second to pat himself on the back for a job well done of dissuading the twins that he'd ever be at their mercy again before Sunstreaker's and Sideswhipe's expressions fell even farther and then they were smiling and a stuttering of air flew out their intakes.

"Oh _Ratchet_." Sideswipe's intakes stammered over a last hiccup of laughter and Sunstreaker's smile stretched even wider.

It was like the ground had dropped underneath him—Ratchet's insides recoiled and for a second he thought he lost his center of gravity as the tingling frenzy of anger abated to a numbing pulse that echoed through him entirely. His CPU flailed—he hadn't been expecting laughter, of all things. He turned, but before he could stumble forward and away, two hands grabbed his arms and twisted him back around and away from the door. Both twins were still smiling and Ratchet's optics frantically shifted from the two stares glinting back at him and the wall at his back helpfully informed him that he was trapped, yet again.

"You're adorable, Ratchet." Sideswipe flicked a finger against his right audio and Ratchet twitched away.

"A dolt, but adorable." Sunstreaker agreed. Ratchet's optics narrowed and he stood up straight, his mouth open to regain some kind of control here.

"Oh no—as much as we love to hear you yell at us, you _are_ going to hear this." Sideswipe's hand shot out and covered Ratchet's opening mouth and he shot a look at his twin and they seemed to have some kind of fast conversation with head nods before they turned back to fix Ratchet as the sole object of their attention.

"We didn't take you for a one-off, Ratchet," Sunstreaker's voice was small, but he fought to put some kind of his usual pride into the tone, "We figured it was a long shot that it'd ever happen, but we knew if it did that it wouldn't just be once."

Ratchet bit at Sideswipe's fingers that were still covering his face and the red twin's hand fumbled back in surprise, "Oh I am so _sure_ that you both had this whole plan thought out prior to everything—"

"Ratchet, hush for a moment, okay?" Sideswipe glared narrowly and Ratchet huffed into weary silence at the look, "You're right, we didn't. When it happened, we didn't question our luck and took it at face value." Ratchet's face contorted and he growled and made a half step to slink out from between the twins and the wall. Sideswipe shouldered him back into place and Ratchet adverted his helm to glare hotly at him.

"_However_," Sunstreaker continued where his twin had stopped off, his tone sharp, "After you took off and left us to wake up alone on the floor of the med bay, Sides and I had a little spark to spark and came to a decision."

"We decided, Ratchet, that we want this. Want you. We'd like it if you did, too. Want us, that is." Sideswipe and Sunstreaker shuffled away from the medic nervously and Ratchet realized they'd given him enough room that he could make a break for the door if he'd wanted to.

Did he want to? Ratchet frowned at the floor and his hands clenched as the tingle started again but this time he couldn't pretend it was anything other than the sharp, physical reaction of pleasure as his spark screamed that _yes_, thank you very much, you _do_ want this. Ratchet's CPU skipped and his spark skipped with it and damn it, he wasn't this _easy._

He raised his helm and took the time to look each twin in the optic before he opened his mouth to tell them just that. Except, of course, nothing ever worked the way he wanted it to and instead his faceplates went hot and he mumbled, "Yes, I suppose I do."

The twins beamed back at him and Ratchet was horrified as his faceplates echoed the movement.

* * *

The doors to Prowl's office cycled open silently, permitting the two black and white bots into the room.

"Well," Jazz said softly, escorting his commanding officer inside, "Guess I'll be seeing ya tomorrow, Prowlie. Recharge well." And with a grin and a wave, the saboteur headed out the still open door.

"Jazz—" The tactician said hastily, catching the saboteur around the elbow and keeping him from leaving the room.

"Yeah?" Jazz asked, tilting his head and turning around a bit to look at Prowl. The Datsun looked away and down quickly and the arm holding Jazz was wavering slightly. Jazz creased his eye ridge in slight concern and turned completely around, dislodging the tactician's weak grip and stepping up to him slightly, "Prowl?"

At the soft question, the tactician's head rose slowly and he locked optics with Jazz's visor, "I…well, if you…I mean—" Abruptly seeming to come back to himself, Prowl's optics flashed and he straightened until he was at complete attention, though he never broke the visual contact, "If you would be so kind as to acquiesce to it, I would like to request your presence."

"What?" he couldn't be asking what Jazz hoped he was asking.

"Stay with me tonight. Recharge with me." It was soft and hesitant and the fact that it was so _un_Prowl made Jazz stutter to a stop.

Optics flashed as the tactician took his silence as answer. Neither bot noticed as the door slowly slid closed, Prowl only straightening his shoulders farther back as his stance grew even stiffer, "Right. Never mind. It was an imprudent request, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Prowl…" Jazz murmured, not leaving despite the obvious dismissal, instead moving farther into the quarters.

"Don't worry about it, Jazz. I had no right to ask—" the saboteur couldn't help but notice that Prowl's shoulders were so far back that his wings quivered with the stress and strain of keeping the position.

"You had every right." Jazz said, laying a gentle hand on a shuddering shoulder, "And…I would love to stay the night. And, Prowlie, this _is_ a new side to you. All hesitant and bashful, I'm touched."

"Don't be." Prowl snarled without any real heat, reaching a hand up to bash Jazz lightly on the back of the helm, "It'll only last until I can logically discern where I stand in this relationship."

"Is that so?" Jazz said with a chuckle, rubbing his hand over the whacked area and following the tactician as he led the way into his adjacent quarters, "Then I'll have to be sure not to let you."

Prowl's pace slowed slightly, "What?"

"Oh come on, Prowlie! What's the fun in a relationship if you can predict all the twists and turns? Where's the spontaneity?" Jazz exclaimed, trailing one hand down a nearby doorwing before throwing himself onto the tactician's berth and making himself comfortable, his arms snaking up to pillow his head.

"Right where I left it, thank you." The tactician growled, his optics and doorwings twitching from the ghost of the caress. He settled down on his berth a bit more sedately, turning so that his doorwings slightly overlapped with the edge while still making sure that the hinges were well supported.

His position, however, also made it all the more easy for sneaky saboteurs to use him as a giant squeeze toy. Wrapping his hands around Prowl right under his doorwings, Jazz pressed the tactician to his chassis tightly, burrowing his head into Prowl's chest plate and humming contently, "Then we best find it, huh?"

Prowl cycled air through his intakes in a long suffering sigh, though he retaliated merely by reaching his own arms up and around the saboteur's back, pulling him even more snugly against him, "We'll talk more later. Just get some recharge, Jazz."

"Can do, Prowlie!" Jazz said and, with one last squeeze of a hand that had found itself lower on the tactician's frame then Prowl remembered it being, the saboteur instigated his recharge cycle.

Rolling his optics at the unrepentant grope, Prowl allowed a small smile to grace his own features before following Jazz's example.

* * *

"Aw, come on Wheeljack! That's not even all that _important_!" Bluestreak wined slightly, twisting around awkwardly as he attempted to dislodge his mate's hold on his wing.

The engineer paid no attention to the squirming gunner in his one-handed grip, merely punching in the code to their quarters and dragging the grey mech in after him, "Important maybe not to _you_, but _I'd_ like to have known that you were allergic to that particular brand of energon so that I would _stop_ making you drink it!"

Bluestreak winced, "But it was always so sweet of you when you brought me fuel that I didn't want it to seem like I wasn't grateful—"

"Telling me that what I'm all but forcing down your intakes will cause your fuel lines to process in burning agony for an astrocycle is not being rude, Blue." Wheeljack said dryly, finally releasing the captive wing as the door cycled closed behind them.

Twitching his wings as he registered their freedom, Bluestreak could only offer a small smile and a sheepish shrug, "It was worth it to know you cared."

Wheeljack sighed out his intakes and rolled his optics, "You're impossible."

"_I'm_ impossible? You wanna talk about ridiculous secrets, 'Jack…" Bluestreak said lightly, reaching out to tap meaningfully on the engineer's mask.

Wheeljack drew back with a huff, "That is _not_ ridiculous!"

Bluestreak snickered out his intakes, "You hide your face because you're a wrongly accused thief. Key word here is _wrongly_—you were cleared of all charges while we were still back on Cybertron!"

Wheeljack gaped for a moment before abruptly remembering how his vocal processors worked, "Well…I didn't exactly start wearing the mask _after_ they cleared my name, I'll have you know. And it was theft _and_ murder, thanks so much. For a while this thing was all that stood between me and, if they had caught me, deactivation."

Sniggering at his lover's put upon look, Bluestreak couldn't help but continue to tease, "Oh yes, because the only identifiable part of a bot is his lower face. I'm sure that there was absolutely no other way to identify you."

Wheeljack stared at the gunner, his face twitching and Bluestreak felt the flash of hurt through the bond.

"Hey 'Jack, I'm sorry." Bluestreak said hurriedly while simultaneously sending a pulse of remorse down the bond's pathway, all traces of teasing dropping from his frame.

Wheeljack's eyes crinkled a bit at the edges and he visibly shook off his melancholy, sending his own pulse back in response, "I know Blue, it's fine. It was a…stressful time in my life, sometimes it still aches to remember it."

Bluestreak pulled the engineer into a light embrace and Wheeljack dropped into it, leaning his helm against the gunner.

"Aw, 'Jack…I really am sorry." Blue said softly and the engineer hummed in agreement, burrowing his head into the crook of the gunner's neck. Blue tightened his embrace and sent another pulse down their bond, attempting to form words this time.

Wheeljack smiled softly behind his mask before retracting it and planting a small, mischievous kiss on the underside of the gunner's jaw, "Love ya too, Blue."

Bluestreak shuddered slightly at the innocent gesture and couldn't help but bask slightly in the realization of how much trust it had actually taken for the engineer to bare his faceplates to him. He couldn't imagine how hard it must have been for Wheeljack, accused of murder and pillaging of a neutral territory by neutrals and Autobots alike, to escape capture with the singular physical alteration of a facemask. And to then join the very organization that had been previously dead set on hunting him down once his name was cleared in the hopes of avenging a couple of bots he didn't even _know_—

Blue smiled slightly. Okay, it made him all the more dashing and heroic, he'd have to admit it. The bot in his arms chuckled as he caught the wayward thought, "Thanks, Blue. Glad I could please."

"There's never been a question of you being able to _please_, 'Jack." Blue said, his tone dropping a few octaves as he nipped at one of his lover's pleasantly and conveniently placed earfins in distinct retaliation for the inventor's previous sneaky kiss.

"Blue…" Wheeljack whined, his tone echoing his lover's and, in combination with the nickname, making Blue's spark throb.

"Mmmm…" the gunner purred as he continued to lightly kiss his kidnapped appendage, sending a hazy pulse of pleasure and tangled love over the bond.

"Blue!" Wheeljack said more forcibly, untangling himself from the gunner's embrace and putting him at arm's length. Blue pouted at the loss and sent a questioning thread through the link and Wheeljack replied with an only slightly aroused placation telling him to wait.

"Why?" Bluestreak asked dejectedly, resigning himself to the fact that there would have to be more talking before anything else could transpire.

"As much as I approve and appreciate your attempt to console me through bouts of interfacing," Wheeljack started dryly and Blue could only grin sheepishly, "I believe there's still one more issue that begs talking about."

All at once Bluestreak felt as if the very planet had dropped out from under him, leaving him high and dry and he could only gape at Wheeljack blankly in unwanted comprehension, "Really, 'Jack, we don't need—"

"Like slag, Blue." Wheeljack said sternly before his expression softened, "No wonder you have nightmares."

"It's nothing, 'Jack. Just leave it." Bluestreak's optics flashed and he folded his arms across his chest, hunkering down and turning slightly away from the engineer.

"Oh no you don't—we got to talk about _my_ insecurity issues over some past traumatizing event and turnabout is only fair play." 'Jack said softly, moving closer to the closed off gunner and grasping his shoulder lightly.

"It happened a long time ago." Blue said gruffly, his voice sounding like it was all but torn from his vocalizer.

Wheeljack curled his arm around the gunner's shoulders, pulling the younger bot's back against his front and, mindful of the splayed doorwings, drew him over to sit on the berth.

"I…know I shouldn't still be this messed up over it." Bluestreak broke the expecting silence, slumping back against the engineer.

"You were just a sparkling, Blue. You don't just get over something like that—" Wheeljack attempted to soothe.

"And my CPU's telling me that I've _heard_ all of this before." Bluestreak ground his dermal plates together, bringing his hands up to rub at his face before wrapping his arms around himself again.

Wheeljack sighed softly, bringing his own arms up and around Bluestreak's own, tugging him closer, "Maybe just a little more time'll be all it'll take. Besides, now you've got me up here, too." Wheeljack nuzzled the gunner's helm softly before flooding the bond with his presence.

Bluestreak couldn't get his vocals to work properly enough to force out any verbal reply, his intakes grating on static, but he nodded, settling for just burrowing himself deeper into Wheeljack's welcoming embrace and sheltering himself in the warm feeling of his bondmate's arms.

* * *

Sam was well aware that the highest and longest stint of adrenaline he was most likely to ever experience would probably be the time he found himself hanging from a stone statue ten stories up with a mace-armed mechanical maniac hell-bent on turning him into scrap. But really, there was absolutely positively _nothing_ in the world that could ever compare to driving down a deserted highway with your bestest best friend going well past the speed limit, windows down, and your head far enough out it that you would have to unbuckle your seatbelt to get that far.

"Woo-hoo! Man, Bee, this is freaking _awesome_!" Sam whooped out the window and Bee revved his engine in agreement, pushing it to go even faster and Sam let out another yell of delight as his hair was plastered every which way and he blinked rapidly as his eyes were burned dry from the resulting wind.

"_Highway to Hell!_" Bee's radio screamed and Sam laughed again, ducking back into the car as a particularly tight turn knocked his center of gravity out of proportion.

"If hell's facing parental units with the request to take a few weeks off from school, then yes, that describes our situation more than perfectly." Sam said dryly, knocking his head against the backrest. Bee hummed slightly and wrapped the seatbelt around his human charge, tightening it slightly in his version of a hug.

Sam patted the belt and stretched with a yawn. He'd not been getting that much sleep lately and, though last night with Bee had been the best rest he'd gotten in a long time, his insomniac tendencies were steadily coming back to bite him in the preverbal behind.

"_Need some sleep. Can't go on like this…_" Bee's radio filtered the soft song through the speakers and Sam swatted at the air even while his eyes drooped slightly in response to the soothing tune.

"Stop that." Sam said, a smile tugging lazily at the edges of his lips, "I've got to be clearheaded to deal with the disgruntled parents and that's not helping."

"_Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up!_" the radio dial went all the way up and Sam winced, slapping one hand on the dash board in playful agitation.

"There's going to be some _real_ rage against _this_ machine if that volume doesn't go down, Bee!" Sam laughed and Bee's radio obligingly lowered the volume with a small spattering of static as the Autobot couldn't help but snicker at his charge.

Sam rolled his eyes and eased back into the seat, "I just had to get the Camaro, didn't I?"

Bee made an outraged turn off the deserted road as they slipped into the more residential area surrounding Sam's house, the sharp move throwing Sam a bit, "Hey! There shall be no banging up of the human, thank you!"

Static laughing again, Bee let loose another song, "_You always hurt the one you love…_."

Raising an eyebrow, Sam lightly placed his hands on the steering wheel for the benefit of the people he could see milling about outside their houses, "Don't be thinking I'll let you get away with stuff just because of how I feel about you."

"_I love Bumblebee, Bumblebee Tuna! Yum-Yum Bumblebee, Bumblebee Tuna!_" Bee's engine gave a small roar and Sam ducked his head as all the heads of the previously not paying attention citizenry turned instantly to glare at the hotheaded teenager in the new Camaro with a big engine and _obviously _something to prove. Sam glared at the steering wheel as his face blushed scarlet and he _knew_ Bee could see it because the radio let out another burst of giggling static.

"Piece of crap Camaro." Sam grumbled, the grin lifting up one side of his mouth betraying the heat in the insult.

"_Can't stand organics, they're soft and squishy!_"

Sam balked at the female voice emanating from the speakers, "What the—where'd you pull _that_ out of?"

"_But I'm cool like that, cool like that, cool like that…_" Bee said and Sam had to grasp for more handholds as the Autobot bumped to the beat.

Sam dropped his chin to his chest and let out a put-upon sigh, "Oh yeah, Bee. Real cool right there."

"_Can't touch this!_" And Sam had to tighten his grip on his handholds of door handle and gearshift again as his guardian swerved to the accompanying beat.

"Bee!" Sam shouted and Bee, snickering the whole time, obediently subsided his behavior, reigning himself in to drive demurely on the correct side of the road. And not a moment too soon, Sam thought sardonically, as his home street came into view.

Lowering on his axels and slowing down to where he was barely even moving, Bee still somehow managed to dredge up enough humor to find a radio station that was currently playing The Imperial March from Star Wars, effectively setting the mood. As they got closer and closer to his house, Sam shrunk more and more in on himself until, as they sedately rolled in the driveway, he was hunched up behind the wheel, a pile of shoulders and taunt muscles locked in place by his own anxiety.

After a few minutes where Sam didn't move a muscle, Bee's radio clicked back onto life as his engine slowly wound down, the Autobot's own voice issuing out through the speakers, "Sam?"

Shaking as he came back to himself, Sam rolled back his shoulders and sat up straight, "I know, I know. Better get this over with." Sighing dramatically, the teen nevertheless unbuckled his seatbelt and, with a quick caress over the metal buckle, he stepped out of the car and made his unsteady way towards his front door that he could_ swear_ had never looked as menacing as it did now.

Stepping up to the door and trying his best not to make a sound as he opened it in the hopes that if his parents didn't hear him come in, it would mean that they weren't there and he wouldn't have to talk to them, Sam crossed over the threshold and into his front room.

"Mom? Dad?" Sam whispered as he glanced left and right. When this revealed no one in his immediate vicinity, the teenager shrugged, "Ah well, looks like they're not home. Too bad, better get back—"

"Get back where?" A voice asked from the kitchen entryway and Sam jumped about seven feet in shock.

"Mom!" He yelled, scrambling for his composure, "You can't just sneak up on someone like that, you've gotta give some warning!"

Judy rolled her eyes and wiped her hands on the apron tied around her waist, "Well I'm sorry Sam, but it sounded like you were looking for me and your father. You were, right? That's what that whole little whisper-thing right there was for?"

As his mother gestured wildly with her hands trying to indicate the area where he had done his little "whisper-thing" Sam just frantically shook his head, "No mom, no. Stop—stop doing that. Please."

"Doing what? This? Oh come on, Sam, I'm just _talking_! Moving your hands is natural when you talk!" Judy said, gesturing even more wildly to prove her point.

"Don't…do that, mom. Just stop, please. That is so not normal." Sam said desperately.

"He's right, Judy. You look like a flailing goose." Ron said as he came down the stairs, prompted into coming out of hiding by his son's voice.

"Oh that's preposterous, Ron. I do _not_ look like a flailing goose." Hands on her hips and neck stretched out to better her point, Sam had to bite his lip to keep his laughter and agreement with his father from spilling out, "And so nice of you to join us, honey."

Wincing, Ron gave a sheepish look to his wife, "Well since he's back and all I figured—"

"That'd it be safe to come out?" Judy said, arching an eyebrow.

Ron shrugged in agreement, "Yes…?"

Judy rolled her eyes, "Well there's nothing for it now. He's back and he'll be going to school tomorrow so I suppose he can just ask for the work he missed—"

"Ah, actually…" Sam broke in nervously, growing even more agitated as the full force of both his parents' stares was suddenly locked on him. That odd, almost external nagging curiosity that had plagued him that morning when his dad woke him up came back to him again suddenly and he mentally shook his head, trying to shrug off the unwanted and overall surreal feeling and marking it down to some kind of residual of continued lack of sleep.

"Actually what, son?" Ron asked wearily, seemingly already sensing that what his son was going to ask for was going to cause some familial drama.

Sam had the decency to look abashed and he raised one hand to scratch the back of his head, "I…need to take a small break from school. Something's come up and they need me at the base—"

"Oh no, I don't think so." Judy said crossly, her arms following suit. There was no question as to who the "they" were in Sam's explanation, his parents were well versed in the many situations the Autobots were prone to throwing their son into, "You may think you're this whole great war hero and everything, but let's be honest. Is that _really_ going to get you into college?"

"She's right, Sam. Your education comes first and that's the final answer." Ron said, stepping up next to his wife and providing a joint front against their son's request. Sam sighed brokenly, he didn't want to tell his parents about his…whatever it was, it would only worry them but they were leaving him no _choice_!

"It's my senior year, you guys! The _end_ of my senior year, no less! Most kids don't even show up to class anymore, teachers are winding down, classes are starting to be a _joke_. And besides," Sam added hastily as his parents lifted twin dubious eyebrows, "Miles and Mikaela can take notes for me on what I miss."

"I don't think so, Sam." Judy said, face stern, "And that's the end of this discussion."

"Please?" Sam asked and, in a last ditch effort before having to resort to telling the truth, he pouted his lower lip, widened his eyes, and even managed to get his tear ducts working enough to make his eyes all watery.

"The answer is _no_ Sam." Judy said and Ron nodded hesitantly in agreement with his wife. Sam saw the chink in the Parental Armor and he seized on the weakness, turning the full force of his pitiful puppy-dog face on his father.

Confronted with the pathetic expression for the second time in the same day, Ron couldn't help but break with an almost audible crack. Sighing and mentally preparing himself, he turned slowly to his wife, "Ah…Judy? He _is_ an adult and it _is_ his senior year…"

"Ron!" Judy said, turning to her husband with an undignified squawk, "You can't be considering this!"

"Well, what if they need him to…save the world or something?" Ron added weakly, turning a flighty gaze to his son.

Glaring slightly, Judy also turned to their son, "Do they need you to save the world or something?"

"Uhhh…yes?" Sam said uncertainty.

Judy's lips narrowed with unhappiness until they had all but disappeared into her face, "Fine. But _only_ one week and when you get back I expect you to go to all your teachers and somehow explain away your absence to them, get all the work you missed, _do_ all the work you missed, and god help you if your grades slip below a B average."

Sam nodded quickly, taking the generous offer of a week and hoping the whole situation could be resolved by then. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! And I promise I will and I promise they won't!"

Sighing, all the fight seemed to leave Judy's frame and she smiled a blinding smile again before turning to go back into the kitchen and mumbling, "Saves the world once and thinks he can do anything…," before announcing that dinner would be ready in thirty minutes.

Catching his father's eye, Sam smiled his thanks. Ron just shook his head and waved a dismissive hand, "Just don't expect anything like this to ever happen again."

Positively beaming, Sam leapt out the door, telling Bee to let Optimus know that a one week stay at the Ark was a go.

Contacting his commander, Bee passed along the message and was told to stay with the human and to transport him back to the Ark when they were ready. Bee acknowledged the order and promptly settled down on his axels to monitor his human as the boy had dinner with his family and then slipped into sleep some time after.

While he sat waiting for Sam to get some sleep—something that Bee knew the human desperately needed—before packing for the Ark, Bee hadn't exactlyplaned on slipping into recharge himself. But after the excitement of the previous day he couldn't help but nod off sometime close to midnight. As he transitioned into recharge, his systems automatically shut down everything except his scanners and emergency communications and Bee inevitably succumbed to the soothing sound of his human's heartbeat that, with his sophisticated scanners, he was still able to monitor from two stories away.

* * *

The infernal beeping of his comm. unit, however, was quick to wake him the next morning with its persistent beeping informing him of an incoming message.

His circuit boards and CPU leisurely booted up to their alert capacity and Bee paged into his comm. to receive the call that had been, to his chagrin, seemingly beeping at him for quite some time.

:_—rusting heap of fried circuit boards!_ _If you don't pick up right now, forget _toasters_, I'm reformatting you into something small, pink, and that requires _batteries_ to operate!_:

:Ah…Ratchet?: Bee interjected sheepishly, :Is there something you wanted?:

:'Something I—' Yes there's something I want! Where the slag are you?: Ratchet all but growled over the comm. link, seeming not to mind that it _should_ be, by all rights, physically impossible to project such an aggravated air over the comm. that it practically had Bee shrinking on his axels is guilt.

:Still at Sam's.: Bee said shamefacedly, :Do you need me?:

:_Need_ you? You slagging bet I do!: Ratchet all but hissed back and Bee felt the line shriek in static as it tried to fully transmit the medic's furry, :Do your audios need replacing or do you have some other reason for not _comprehending_ that when I said "everyone's getting a check-up" that "everyone" actually _included_ everyone?:

:But—but I thought that was for the bots who—: Bee stuttered uselessly, his engine revving slightly, causing a passing jogger to jump back in shock and quickly proceed with his chosen route, glancing nervously at the suspiciously parked Camaro while simultaneously trying to convince himself that there really _was_ someone in the cab. Bee had been under the impression that he had plenty of time to bring Sam back to the Ark. He figured that with everyone _else's _checkups taking up the beginning of the morning that they wouldn't require his or Sam's presence until much later in the day, an assumption he thought it had been safe to make with Optimus not having taken him off the active duty roster.

Ratchet, it seemed, had a different view of the situation, :For the bots that were _affected by the Allspark_, yes. And I don't suppose that category would include you, would it?: Ratchet said sarcastically, :Were you or were you _not_ in the room when I announced the necessary check-ups?:

Sometimes Bee hated the fact that Cybertronians could recall memories and past events in such clarity, :…I was.:

:Well then. Get your shiny aft down here _immediately_!: And with that final command the medic cut the link and Bee couldn't help an internal wince.

Cranking his radio up, Bee had a moment to silently apologize to his still sleeping human about the wake up call, but desperate times and all that.

* * *

A/N: No cliffhanger this time! Right? There're points for that (crosses fingers)? I don't know when the next part will be up, but there WILL be a next part. Eventually. And one day this will be finished, I swear to you! Want to tell me how much I suck at having an update schedule? Please feel free to leave a comment! Want to let me know that my crap spelling has messed me up again? Feel free to leave a comment! Just...I would really appreciate it if you left a comment, s'all I'm saying. They really helped me get this thing out and it's always so nice to hear from you! Thank you for reading, so much—I'm so honored that you did.


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